


Catastrophe Reigns

by keanubot



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Procedures, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-07-28 21:53:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 58,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16250513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keanubot/pseuds/keanubot
Summary: You’re a nurse at a New York hospital, and one night an injured man appears outside your apartment. You take him in, having no idea that he’s one of the most feared assassins in the world.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been posting (and will continue to post) this fic on tumblr but I thought it would be nice to have it on this platform as well. Please continue to give your thoughts and comments! Hearing your opinions really pushes me forward. New chapters will be posted on tumblr before they are posted on here, so it makes sense to [follow me there](http://www.keanubot.tumblr.com) if you want to stay as updated as possible with this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** 1,534
> 
>  **warnings:** none for this chapter, except maybe blood? this fic will get nsfw eventually.

To say you've had a long day is an understatement. It's almost midnight as you walk up the front steps to your apartment, legs aching from the multitude of hours on your feet. After working a double shift at the hospital to earn some extra cash, you're absolutely exhausted, and you can't wait to crawl into bed. As rewarding as it is, being a nurse certainly has its downsides – this is one of them.

You turn your key in the lock and open the door, immediately shutting it behind you as to not let any rain in. The weather has been absolutely miserable all day, and you're glad you were able to get a ride home. Otherwise, you'd have had to pay for a taxi, and god knows your bank account can't handle any extra expenses right now. You've really been falling off the deep end money-wise lately; the universe doesn't seem to like you very much at the moment.

A soft meow greets you at the door and you smile, turning on the light and peering down to look at the grey cat sitting at your feet. “Hey, Fitz,” you reach down to scratch his ears and he purrs, blinking his big green eyes. “Did you miss me?”

You take off your jacket and hang it up, not really caring about the water dripping onto the carpet. All you want to do is slip into some comfy pajamas and go to sleep. You head to the kitchen, Fitz following behind closely. He's used to these weird feeding times by now, and he knows exactly what's coming as you open the cupboard under the sink and pull out the bag of cat food.

“Hungry?” you ask; you like to pretend he can understand you, and you always wait a few seconds for a reply. Obviously, it doesn't come, and you just laugh to yourself and pour some food into his bowl. He begins to chow down immediately, and by the time you've re-filled his water dish he's already finished eating. “Well I guess that answers my question.”

He laps up some water while you walk over to the calendar that's hanging on the wall, uncapping a pen and quickly writing in how many hours you worked. You like to keep track so you know how much money you'll have when it comes time to pay rent at the end of the month. You're about to put the pen down when you notice a green circle around tomorrow's date: garbage day.

“Why me?” you ask Fitz, sighing deeply and heading back over to the front door, grabbing your coat and slipping back into your shoes. There's no way in hell you're getting up early tomorrow to put the garbage out, so it's back out into the rain you go, plastic bags in hand.

Even with your hood up, the rain hits your face and makes you splutter. This really isn't your day. You walk down the steps awkwardly, trying not to lose your balance or slip on the wet stairs. You make it down with no casualties, and place the bags on the curb. Just as you're turning to go back to your apartment, you hear a noise coming from somewhere nearby. You turn your head in the direction it's coming from and squint your eyes, trying to make out whatever it is through the heavy rain.

It sounds like something whimpering in pain, and you automatically assume that it's a cat. Cat fights are common in this neighbourhood and you've seen – and heard – your fair share of feline distress. That's how you'd come across Fitz, after all. Poor thing. You walk a few steps to the right, pushing your hair behind your ear to listen as closely as possible. The rain continues to make it damn near impossible for you to pinpoint its exact source.

Taking baby steps, you inch up the sidewalk and keep your eyes on the ground, searching for the injured animal. After another moment of searching, you suddenly spot something black peeking out from one of the bushes near your apartment. You crouch slightly, and move forward to gently push some branches out of the way.

“It's okay,” you coo, hoping that you're calming it and not scaring it. “It's okay, baby. You're okay.”

Your hand touches the black ligament poking out of the greenery, and you yelp, falling backwards and landing on your hands. “What the fuck?!”

The second your fingers had touched it, you'd known immediately that it wasn't an animal.

It's a person.

Hesitantly, you lean forward again, getting a better look. The black thing you'd touched had been fabric, specifically the fabric from a pair of pants. And even more specifically, a knee. Your eyes follow a path from the knee to an ankle, and you see a pair of expensive looking shoes. You do a double take when you realize that there's blood dripping down the leg, and that the fabric is absolutely soaked with it. Your head snaps up when you hear that familiar whimper, and your hand comes up to cover your mouth as you try to process what you're seeing. There is a man – a clearly very injured man – lying in a bush outside your apartment.

“Oh my god.” the words barely make it out of your mouth, and suddenly you're standing up again, both hands covering your mouth in shock. “Oh my god.” you look around, as if the answer to  _what the fuck am I supposed to do right now_  is going to be somewhere on the street. “Uhhh, oh my god?” you can't stop saying it, and you can feel your heart racing in your chest.

_Focus. Breathe._

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and bringing your hands down.  _You're a fucking nurse. You know what to do. Stop babbling like an idiot and help the poor man._

When your eyes open, they're determined, and you're ready. You reach down into the bushes and find the man's shoulders, gripping them tightly and pulling him upwards. He groans, which is a good sign, and even though his upper body is seemingly the heaviest thing in the world, you power through and pull him out, dragging him carefully onto the sidewalk. You can't get a good look at his injuries through the rain, but you can see that his face is covered in blood, probably coming from a forehead wound. You're able to make out dark hair, long and wild – matted down with even more blood.

The most peculiar thing you notice is that he's wearing a suit. And not just some basic Walmart suit either. The rain may be making it hard to see clearly but it's incredibly obvious, from both the shoes and the suit, that this isn't a homeless man. He's probably the most stylish patient you've ever treated.

Which reminds you, you actually need to treat him.

You lean down close to his face, speaking clearly, “Can you stand?”

He says something, but it's too quiet and jumbled. You lean down even further, and you can suddenly make out his face through the blood. A defined nose, high cheekbones, scruffy chin – and when he opens his eyes, a deep brown, you're startled by the intensity they carry.

“Say that again.” you say, louder. “I can't hear you. I wanna help you but I need you to try and communicate with me, okay?”

He blinks slowly at you and takes a deep, shaky breath. “I think so.” his voice is rough and you can tell he's in a great deal of pain.

“Okay, that's good.” you reach down and take his hands in yours, slippery with blood and rain, and you keep your eyes locked with his. “I'm a nurse. My name is Y/N. I'm gonna help you but first I need to get you into my apartment, okay? I live right here.” you tilt your head slightly towards the building, not breaking eye contact. “On the count of three, I'm going to pull you up from the ground and you'll need to help me as best you can. Do you understand?”

He nods, very slowly. “Yes.”

You put a hand beneath his back, supporting him. “One. Two. Three.”

Suddenly you're pulling and he's pushing, and within seconds he's upright and leaning against you. He's tall, much taller than you are, and his arm on your shoulder is heavy. He's incredibly muscular, and the phrase  _You should see the other guy_  suddenly pops into your head. There's no way this man didn't put up some sort of fight with his attacker. You hope whoever it is isn't close by; the last thing you need is someone attempting to harm your patient.

Very slowly and carefully, you walk with the injured man to your apartment steps. It takes a few minutes to make it up the stairs, holding tightly to him out of fear that he'll fall down and hurt himself further. When you reach the top, you turn the door knob and carefully lead him inside your home, shutting the door behind you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please feel free to like/reblog this chapter on tumblr: [chapter 1](https://keanubot.tumblr.com/post/176841558865/catastrophe-reigns-john-wickreader-chapter-1)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** 3,796
> 
>  **warnings for this chapter:** blood, vague descriptions of medical procedures

You’re suddenly incredibly thankful to live on the first floor of your apartment building; the idea of helping this hulk of a man up even more flights of stairs is exhausting just to think about. You kick the door shut behind you, your shoulders aching as the injured man continues to put practically his entire weight on you. You were already stiff from your double shift, and this certainly isn’t helping.

“Just a few more steps.” you say, not sure if you’re talking to him or yourself.

You’re vaguely aware of Fitz hissing at the unfamiliar guest, but your main concern right now is just getting to the living room. You finally make it to the couch and carefully release his weight, laying him down. He winces, face and hair still matted with blood.

“I’m gonna call an ambulance, okay? Just sit tight.” you move to go get your phone, but you feel something grab your wrist. You look down, and the man is gripping your arm in a sudden burst of strength. Fitz hisses again, even louder

“No.” he says, voice weak.

You look up from your wrist and your eyes meet his. There’s something there that you don’t recognize through all the blood. Fear?

“You- you don’t want me to call an ambulance?”

“Don’t.”

Your brow furrows, worry setting in. You’re not dumb; you realize this guy probably got mixed up in something illegal and he’s trying to cover his ass. But whether or not to call for assistance isn’t really his call…right?

He’s looking at you, his eyes staring into yours with startling intensity, hand still wrapped around your wrist. “Please.” he mouths.

You bite your lip, feeling your resolve slipping, not that there was much to begin with. You know you have medical supplies in the apartment, but you don’t even know the extent of his injuries yet. You bring your other hand up to your face, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Okay,” you sigh, “Okay. I’ll go get everything I have. Just stay here and try not to move.”

He releases your wrist, hand flopping back down against the couch. He’d mustered a lot of strength to do that, and it makes you wonder what kind of person he is, what he’s done. If he’s sacrificed what little energy he had left to stop you from calling the paramedics, it can’t be pretty.

But that’s not what matters right now. You leave the living room, bumping Fitz lightly with your foot as you go. “Come on, Fitz. It’s okay. Leave him alone.” but he just hisses at the couch again, ignoring you. With an exasperated sigh, you reach down and pick him up, wincing as he digs his claws into your arm. “If you can’t behave yourself you’re going in the bedroom.”

After placing Fitz on your bed and shutting the door to keep him inside, you go to the bathroom and grab everything you can from the medicine cabinet. As a nurse, you definitely have more than most people do, but you’re not sure it’s enough for the task at hand. You practically empty the entire cupboard before putting everything down on the coffee table beside the couch. You fill a bowl with some warm water and grab a few clean rags from under the sink, then slide one of your kitchen chairs into the living room and seat it next to the man, still lying on the couch.

He’s in the same position, breathing heavily. You sit down on the chair and dip one of the rags into the water, then lean toward him - elbows on your knees. “I’m gonna have to remove your clothes.” you say calmly. “Before I start, do you want to tell me your name?”

He takes another shaky breath, eyes closed. “John.” he replies, voice low.

“It’s nice to meet you, John.” you say quietly, reaching forward to lightly press the rag to his head. You gently wipe it across his forehead, cleaning the blood and trying to find a wound. When you find it, you’re relieved when your suspicions are confirmed: it’s only small. “This cut on your head is an easy fix. Won’t even need stitches.” you continue to wipe the blood as best you can. “Forehead wounds usually seem worse than they actually are.”

“I know.” you hear him say, and you pull back to look at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Get a lot of forehead wounds?”

His expression changes then, and you can see his face much better now that you’ve wiped the blood away. He’s handsome, and his eyes are incredibly expressive. He looks almost sheepish after saying that, as if he’d revealed something he hadn’t meant to. You don’t question it; he’s got enough on his plate as it is without prying questions.

“Alright, I need you to lean your head forward a bit, if you can. I’ll help.” you hold his head in your hands and lift, getting a good look at the back and sides. You feel through his hair, thick and rain soaked. “Tell me if it hurts.”

You feel around a bit more but he doesn’t protest, which is a good sign. You lay his head back down on the couch, unable to hold back a smile. “Well, your head is fine. I mean, I’d probably recommend a CT scan but I doubt you’ll follow my advice.” you throw him a wink so he knows you’re teasing. “I need you to sit up for me now, as best you can.”

You help him sit up, and he leans on you for support as you carefully begin to take his jacket off.

“Wait.” you hear, suddenly alert – urgent.

You freeze, “What?”

“Guns.” he replies, voice weaker by the second. “I have…guns. Don’t…be scared.”

You pull back to stare at him, eyes wide. “You have guns? Like… in your jacket?”

He nods slowly. You’re suddenly standing, and he falls back onto the couch with a small gasp. You know you just dropped your patient but you can’t really think about that right now, not when you just heard the word  _guns_  come out of his mouth.

“Guns.” you repeat, taking a step back. “Guns, plural? As in more than one?”

He puts a hand up – as best he can. “It’s…okay…”

You almost laugh at the ridiculousness of what he’s saying. “Oh yeah, sure, totally.” you say sarcastically, bringing your hand up to cover your forehead. “You just casually have guns. Plural. No big deal.” You’re freaking out a little bit, and it shows.

He puts his hand down, groaning as he shuts his eyes in pain. “Listen.” he says, breathing heavily. “I…understand…..that you’re…afraid.”

You scoff, “Afraid? You think I’m afraid?” you sit back down on the chair, crossing your arms. “Of  _you_? Come on, you can barely move. No, John – if that’s actually your name – I’m not afraid. But you know what does bother me? Just a little bit? Being arrested for housing a dangerous man; a wanted man. That’s what I can’t quite get my head around right now.”

“I’m not…wanted.” he says, then breathes deeply. “….By the police anyway.”

“Very reassuring.” you reply, putting your head in your hands. “What the fuck am I doing?”

“Helping…me.” he says, and you can tell he doesn’t have much vocal strength left. “Hopefully.”

Part of you wants to rewind back to the beginning of this night – of this day, even. That part of you would gladly re-do this entire shitty day if it meant getting the choice of not finding this man, of not putting yourself in this godawful situation where there’s no way you can win. You’d make that choice in an instant…right?

But then there’s the other part of you, the stronger, more logical part. The medical part. You’re a nurse, it’s who you are, and it’s what you’ve always prided yourself on before anything else. You help people, no matter what. It’s that part of you that made you decide to help this man in the first place. It’s that strength that got you up those steps.

You pull your head out of your hands, shaking your head firmly. “Fuck it. Sit up.”

His eyes open, and he watches as you carefully help to sit him up again and begin removing his jacket. Well, he wasn’t lying; the moment you open it you’re greeted by two guns, holstered to each of the pockets. Slowly (probably too slowly), you pull the guns out and lay them on the table, not speaking. You pull the jacket off him and your eyes widen when you see his white shirt, soaked through with dark red blood. Your hands immediately go to the buttons, and he grabs your shoulders for support as he holds himself up. You expose his chest and shoulders, then his stomach, eyes getting wider and wider as each button comes undone.

“Jesus Christ.” it’s barely a whisper, your mouth open in shock. “Are those –  _stab wounds_?”

“Yes.” he breathes, directly into your ear. You hate that his voice – and his breath so close to your ear – sends tingles down your spine. “And one…bullet…..in my thigh..”

“John, I-” you don’t even know what to say. You hadn’t imagined that  _this_  would be the extent of his injuries. For fuck’s sake, you’d been happy about there not being a  _head wound_  only minutes ago; it’s almost laughable, now that you’re looking at the real damage. “I don’t have anaesthetic.” is all you can say to articulate your thoughts right now. You throw his shirt to the floor and carefully lean him back against the cushions.

“Don’t….need it.”

“John, you could have internal injuries.” you begin mopping up the blood and are quite relieved to see that the bleeding has slowed in most of the wounds. “This isn’t safe, I can’t just stitch you up without a proper look at your organs.”

“They’re not…that deep.” you have absolutely no idea how he knows this, but he’s right. You can tell by looking at the wounds that the incisions were quick, but John was quicker. Still, just because the wounds appear a certain way, doesn’t mean he’s not damaged internally.

But you can’t fight about going to the hospital; you don’t have time.

You make a loud noise of frustration, grabbing another clean rag and a bottle of antiseptic. “This is gonna hurt like hell. Open your mouth.” he does as he’s told, and you shove the rag inside as best you can. “I’m gonna count again, okay? Are you ready?”

He nods, staring up at the ceiling with the rag tight between his teeth.

“One, two, three.”

The next three minutes are probably the most unpleasant three minutes of your life. The rag helps to contain his screaming, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s  _screaming_. And writhing. And groaning. And probably craving the sweet release of death. The antiseptic is by far the worst part; you know that if he can get through this, he can get through the stitches. That’s what powers you forward, along with your constant reassurance to him:

“ _I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”_

“ _Stay with me, John. You got this. You’re doing so good.”_

“ _Almost done, John, we’re so close.”_

“ _One more left, just one more.”_

You’re both ridiculously relieved when you’re done, and suddenly the stitching aspect seems easy. But this pain will be different – slower, more drawn out – and without anaesthetic, it certainly won’t be pleasant either. You go to the kitchen and open your liquor cabinet, which only contains a few things, mainly wine. However, you still have that bottle of bourbon that your dad gave you as a housewarming gift – 2 years ago. It’s never been opened.

Now seems like as good a time as any.

You re-enter the living room with a glass, a bag of ice, and the bottle. For someone who can’t really express himself the way he wants to at the moment, you can sense the relief when John sees what you’ve brought. You can tell – hell, you realized pretty early on – that this isn’t the first time John’s been fixed up in this fashion, and alcohol is obviously one of his preferred medications. His hand seems to unconsciously reach out towards you, eyes on the bottle.

“Not so fast.” you say in response to his eagerness. “Listen, this will definitely help distract from the pain, but if you drink a lot of it I won’t be able to give you painkillers for a few hours.” you sit down, unscrewing the cap. “I mean, I think I already know the answer, but what do you wanna do?”

He doesn’t need to say anything, crooking his fingers towards himself. You grab a few ice cubes from the bag and toss them in the glass, pouring the bourbon on top. Carefully, you put the glass to his lips and tilt the liquid into his mouth, pushing his hair out of his face with your other hand.

You can’t deny that he’s handsome; very handsome. Gorgeous, actually. His dark hair is thick and long, and – though still wet with rain and blood – it’s beautiful, framing his face and accentuating his sharp features. His lips are full, but hidden beneath his scruffy beard. As you watch him drink the bourbon like a man dying of thirst, your mind wanders back to your questions. Who is he? What has he done? Why is he here?

“Okay, John, that’s enough.” you say with a bit of a laugh, pulling the glass away. “We’ve got a lot left to do. Plenty of time to drink.”

You place the glass on the table and carefully wash your stitching tools with antiseptic, grabbing the spool of string from your first aid kit and threading it through the needle. “Lucky for you,” you say, tongue sticking out slightly as you concentrate on knotting the string just right, “I was the best in my class at sutures. I’m very efficient.”

“You are.” he agrees, and you look up from the needle to see that he’s smiling at you, an actual smile. You don’t know how he’s managing to move at all without feeling pain, but you can’t deny the grin on his face, toothy and beautiful.

“Thank you.” you feel warmth in your cheeks suddenly, and your eyes dart back down to the needle as you try to hide your smile.

_Seriously? The first man who pays you a compliment in almost a year and you’re blushing like a school girl? Smooth._

You figure it’s best to get the biggest wound out of the way first, which is on his lower abdomen. You notice immediately that the skin around it has clearly been stitched before, but was obviously re-opened from too much movement. “This one is old.” you say; it’s not a question.

“Yes.” he replies. “The others are new.” his voice is coming back to him after cleaning his wounds, but he still sounds weak.

“And are they all knife wounds?”

“All except that one. That’s from a broken bottle.”

“Right.” you say, unfazed. At this point, nothing he says could shock you. Before you begin stitching, you suddenly remember that he still apparently has a bullet in his thigh. “Fuck, how’s your leg?” Maybe you should attend to that first? Your mind is going a mile a minute and you hate that you’re doing this alone.

“It can wait.” he says, “Believe me, I’ve had worse.”

Of course.

“I’m gonna use some ice to numb the area a little bit,” you tell him, grabbing a cube from the bag and hovering it above his wound. “Sorry, this is gonna be cold.” you catch yourself laughing at the idea of warning for temperature after what he’s just been through, and before you can feel bad, he lets out a weak chuckle as well.

You glide the ice across the opening, his abdomen flinching a bit at the touch. You bring your other hand – much warmer – up to press gently against his stomach, calming him. For someone so muscular, he has a rather soft tummy. His skin is smooth, body hair thin and wispy, aside from a thick line of it that trails from his belly button to under his waistband. You can see a faint line of a scar running underneath it, probably decades old.

 _He’s gorgeous_ , you can’t help but think to yourself.  _Absolutely gorgeous._

The stitching process is  _much_  easier, just as you’d guessed. John is definitely used to this part, barely flinching after the initial shock of the cold against his skin. It doesn’t take you long to finish the large wound, and then you’re working on the others, sutures clean and precise. You don’t talk much as you do it, wanting to concentrate as best you can and get it done as quickly as possible so you can move on to his bullet wound. You pause every few minutes to bring the bourbon to John’s lips, and the glass is empty by the time you finish the last area.

“Done.” you say with a smile, snipping the end of the string with your scissors and pulling back to admire your work. “That wasn’t too bad.”

John’s hand comes up to touch yours, and you bring your gaze up from your handiwork to look at his face. “Thank you.” he says quietly, eyes kind and sincere.

It’s hard to think of words when he’s looking at you like that. You stare at him for a few seconds, then you come to your senses, shaking your head and putting your tools back down on the table. “Don’t thank me yet, we’re not completely out of the woods.” your eyes fall down to his leg. “I’m gonna take off your pants now.”

He laughs lightly again, “Well that’s something no one’s said to me for a long time.”

You feel yourself blush again, avoiding eye contact as you reach down and begin unbuttoning his pants. In any other circumstance, your heart would be racing in anticipation. Instead, your heart is racing with worry and fear; you have no idea what kind of damage you’re about to unveil. You drag his zipper down and reach for his waistband. You freeze when you feel a holster, and you carefully take a third gun out and place it on the table. You don’t say anything, there’s no need to. Instead, you just tug at his waistband, being careful not to also pull down his boxer shorts. Slowly, you remove his pants, eyes darting back and forth across his thighs, looking for the wound.

“Right leg.” he says, and you make the mistake of looking up at him; he’s peering at you, eyes soft and hazy, and the sight of him watching you makes you feel a slight pulse in your underwear.

 _Jesus Christ, this is_ so _not the time._ You blame the current state of your love life; you haven’t been this close to a man in over a year, especially a man this intoxicating. Still, you mentally chastise yourself and finish taking his pants off, removing his shoes as well to make him more comfortable.

You feel a small rush of relief when you see the wound; the bullet isn’t deep, so it’s not bleeding very much, and it’s visible. “This shouldn’t be too hard.” you say, more to yourself than to him. “Just gotta make an incision, extract it, and stitch.”

“Easy peasy.” he says, and you raise an eyebrow. He smiles sheepishly, “Just – uh, lightening the mood.”

You uncap the bourbon again, re-filling the glass. “You’re an…interesting guy, John.” there’s not really any other way to put it.

“Not really.” he replies, and you immediately notice a change in tone. You look at him curiously as you bring the glass to his mouth. He’s a very guarded man, that much is clear – constantly acting as if he’s revealed too much every time he speaks. There’s a story there, behind those brown eyes, a long one. You suddenly find yourself wanting to know everything.

“This isn’t gonna be fun,” you sigh, placing the glass back on the table and grabbing the antiseptic. You bring the rag he’d had in his mouth earlier up to his lips, “Ready?”

He looks at it, letting out a shaky sigh. “As I’ll ever be.”

The next fifteen minutes pass in a blur. You work quickly, trying to ignore John’s muffled noises as best you can. Your mind is focused entirely on removing the bullet carefully and precisely. When you extract it, it’s impossible to explain in words the amount of relief you feel when you see that it’s in one piece, and there’s no traces of it left inside his thigh. You lay it on a paper towel and blindly reach for the bottle of bourbon, eyes still focused on the wound. You bring the bottle to your own lips and take a long swig, spluttering slightly but welcoming the warm burn in your throat.

You ice it a bit, then stitch, and before you know it you’re looking down at a perfectly clean, even, and – most importantly –  _closed_ bullet wound. You exhale for what feels like the first time in the past hour, “I’m done,” you lean forward in the chair and put your head between your knees. “I’m done.” Your hands had been perfectly steady this entire time, but now that you’re finished, they’re suddenly shaking violently, your head spinning. You feel tears welling in your eyes, your stomach in knots.

You can’t believe you just did that. By yourself.

“You okay?” you hear John ask, and through your tears you feel yourself start to laugh. You look up at him, practically vibrating in your chair as the nerves finally take over and your laughing becomes uncontrollable. Smile wide, face wet, you reach over and take his hand.

“Am _I_  okay?  _Me?_ ”

He nods, a smile spreading on his face as you continue to laugh. Placing your elbow on the edge of the couch and putting your chin in your hand, you smile up at him, shaking your head incredulously.

“Yeah, John.” you sniff, squeezing his hand gently. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

And while you’re sitting there, looking into his eyes and laughing together, it feels as though time has stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please feel free to like/reblog this chapter on tumblr: [chapter 2](https://keanubot.tumblr.com/post/177032262775/catastrophe-reigns-john-wickreader-chapter-2)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** 1,996 (yeah this one’s a bit short sorry)
> 
> **warnings for this chapter:** nsfw for a split second

The day truly feels endless as you rummage through your linen closet for some spare blankets, preparing to put together a makeshift bed for John. After everything that’s happened tonight, you feel like you’re running on autopilot. You grab everything you need and return to the living room, body feeling heavy as your tiredness begins to really set in.

You freeze in place when you see John. He’s somehow – quite remarkably, considering the circumstances – standing up. His pants are already back on and he’s buttoning his blood stained shirt, hands visibly shaking as he attempts to put the buttons through the holes. You drop the blankets to the floor and he looks up, halting what he’s doing when he sees you standing there.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask, crossing your arms.

He immediately avoids eye contact, resuming his buttoning, “Thank you – for everything.” his voice is quiet, and you can tell he’s still in pain. “You have no idea how much I appreciate what you’ve done.”

“Are you _leaving?_ ”

His eyes dart up to look at you quickly, then back to his shirt. “Yes,” he coughs, still working on the same button. “I think I’ve given you enough grief for tonight.”

You roll your eyes, walking forward and gently slapping his hands away from his shirt, “Stop it,” you begin to undo his progress and he protests, reaching back up and touching your wrist. You just slap it away again. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Y/N, I-”

“I said you’re not going anywhere.” you respond quietly, suddenly realizing how close you are to him. Now that he’s not leaning on you, you realize just how tall he really is, and you can feel his eyes looking down at you as you unbutton his shirt. Your fingers brush his skin as you work your way down, and despite trying to keep a cool exterior, you feel your cheeks warm. You finish the last button and look up at him, “You’re sleeping here. End of story.”

He doesn’t say anything, just peers into your eyes with a slightly puzzled expression as your hands come up to carefully push the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms. As the shirt cascades to the floor, you suddenly notice a multitude of faded scars all over his chest and stomach. As if by its own accord, your hand reaches out to gently touch one on his collarbone. “John,” you breathe, your finger tracing it softly. “What-”

Before you can ask, his hand comes up again and grabs yours, still keeping eye contact with you. His grip is firm, and he slowly pulls your hand away from the scar. “Don’t.” he says softly, and there’s no anger or annoyance in his voice. If anything, you sense a kind of…sadness.

“I’m sorry.” you say, and you turn away from him to pick up the blankets, feeling embarrassed. You know that was  _very_  forward, but your mind is reeling.  _Why does he have so many scars?_

When you turn around, you stop in your tracks yet again. He has his back to you, and he’s unzipping his pants, but that’s not what makes you freeze. It’s his back, big and muscular, and the fact that half of it is covered in tattoos. You count four in total, three images and one phrase. You’re not fluent in any language other than English, but you’re able to recognize that the words are Latin:  _Fortes Fortuna Adiuvat._ You have no clue what it means, but you find yourself repeating the words a few times in your head while your eyes scan the other tattoos; a cross with praying hands, a wolf, and a dog engulfed by flame.

His pants drop to the floor and he’s in his boxers yet again, which certainly breaks your concentration. You walk forward, placing the blankets on the couch. “Sit down while I put this together for you, okay?” he looks at you, and you can tell he knows you were looking. He just nods and sits on the kitchen chair you’d brought in earlier. You notice a fifth tattoo, another cross, on his upper left arm, and you only let your eyes linger for a second before grabbing a blanket and spreading it along the couch.

You have so many questions to ask him, but you know better by now. Instead, you change the subject, “How are the stitches feeling?”

“Perfect.” he says sincerely, and you smile to yourself.

“And you?”

He hesitates, and you fluff a pillow as you wait for his answer. “…Tired.”

You laugh to yourself, adjusting the blankets a little bit more before standing up and turning back to him, “That doesn’t surprise me.” you reach down and take his hands in yours. “Come on, let me help you.”

His hands are big and calloused in yours as you help him onto the couch, and you feel something hard against your skin, realizing he’s wearing a ring. You swallow down yet another question as you spread a blanket on top of him, making sure to do it carefully as to not disturb the stitches. “You don’t need to do that.” he protests, but you ignore him, tucking it under his body gently.

“You’re my patient and you have to listen to me.” you say teasingly, sitting in the chair next to him and placing the back of your hand against his forehead. “You don’t have a fever, that’s a good sign. But you still need to take some painkillers in a little bit, after the alcohol wears off. I’ll set an alarm.”

“You don’t-”

“You’re not used to someone taking care of you, are you?” you say with a smile, shaking your head and pushing his hair back, eyeing the small wound on his forehead. “Listen, it’s my job, okay? If it makes you feel any better, I’m treating you like I treat all my patients. Don’t think you’re getting any special treatment.”

“Oh, really?” he raises an eyebrow, “You let all your patients sleep on your couch?”

“Sure.” you say, smiling wider as you reach across the table and grab a small bandage. “God, in all the commotion I forgot to put something on this.” you place it on the cut, pressing it down gently with your thumb.

His eyes are heavy, and you can tell he’s getting more and more tired with every blink. For such a large person, he suddenly seems very small, and you find yourself feeling quite protective of him. You adjust the blankets a little more around his shoulders, making sure he’s as comfortable as possible. “I really should go.” he says softly – almost dreamlike – and you bring your hand to his cheek, lightly wiping away some blood you’d missed.

“Sleep.” you whisper, and your hand lingers as his eyes close.

You get the feeling that he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in quite a few days. He’s unconscious almost immediately after closing his eyes, mouth open slightly as he breathes deeply and evenly. He sounds so much better now, the rattle and shake gone. Your hand is still on his cheek, and you let your thumb gently trace another faded scar under his eye. Without a doubt, you know that this man has been to hell and back.

“Goodnight, John.” you murmur, removing your hand and standing once again. You’re too tired to put everything away, so you just grab the bag of ice and place it back into the freezer before heading to your bedroom, feet dragging along the floor. Fitz is curled up on your bed, and he jumps up almost immediately when you enter, clearly on edge.

“It’s okay, silly.” you say, scratching his ears. “He’s harmless.”

What’s peculiar is John hasn’t really given you a reason to believe he’s harmless, and yet… you just know it to be true. Whatever kind of shit he’s mixed up in, you know in your gut that it’s not his fault – and despite only meeting him tonight, you feel a strong trust for him that you can’t explain. You left three loaded guns on your coffee table beside him, for god’s sake.

Your thoughts are muddled as you undress, and the fatigue hits you completely when you finally do what you’ve wanted to do since you got home: get in bed. You set an alarm to remind yourself to give John painkillers, and when your head hits the pillow you fall asleep almost instantly, thoughts becoming dreams. You dream of a dark haired man hovering above you, brown eyes looking deeply into yours as his fingers trail slowly down your body, your nails digging into his back as his hand slips into your underwear.

“Feel good?” he whispers, and his middle finger pushes slowly inside of you.

**—–**

You wake up to the sound of your alarm, feeling flushed and warm as you reach over and turn it off. Trying to ignore the ache between your legs and the wet spot in your underwear, you pull the blankets off and get out of bed. You squint against the sunlight streaming through your window, walking to your bedroom door and trying not to disturb Fitz who’s still asleep on the end of your bed.

You have absolutely no idea what’s gotten into you.  _Did you really have a sex dream about a man you only met last night?_  God, you need to get laid.

The apartment is just as quiet as it always is, so you assume John is still asleep. You tiptoe quietly into the living room, not wanting to wake him before you need to, but you almost trip up on your own feet when you see the couch.

It’s empty.

In disbelief, you speed walk to the kitchen – but he’s not in there either. Or the bathroom. Returning to the living room, you walk over to the couch and spot a piece of paper, clearly taken from the pad you keep on the kitchen table. You unfold it, eyes scanning the words written in pen:

_Y/N,_

_I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to explain how much what you did last night meant to me. I am forever indebted to you, and one day I’ll return the favour. I promise._

_For reasons I’m unable to disclose, I have to leave. All I’ll say is that me staying here is not in your best interest. Don’t worry, I took the medication with me. I’ll be fine._

_Thank you for everything,_

_John_

You read it a few times, and you don’t know what to think. The message certainly doesn’t explain much, and if anything you just have more questions than you did before. Frustrated, you sit down and stare at it, and unexpectedly feel tears well in your eyes. Despite barely knowing this man, it’s impossible to deny the connection you feel to him. You’d felt it last night, a strong electric spark that seemed endless and intangible. It wasn’t just because you’d helped him; you help people every day. No, it was something else, something deeper. And now, as you read his words over and over, you feel it slipping away. You feel  _him_  slipping away.

You tilt sideways on the couch and you’re suddenly lying down, exactly where he’d spent most of the night. Unable to stop yourself, you press your nose into the pillow and inhale, breathing in the smell of him, strong and masculine. Tears stain your cheeks as you bring the piece of paper up to your chest, holding it to your heart. You feel stupid for being so upset, but you can’t help it, and you close your eyes tightly as you continue to breathe him in.

Before you know it, you’re falling back to sleep, wishing more than anything that he was lying beside you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please feel free to like/reblog this chapter on tumblr: [chapter 3](https://keanubot.tumblr.com/post/177137020130/catastrophe-reigns-john-wickreader-chapter-3)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** 5k
> 
> **warnings:** injuries, brief mention of a sex toy

You awaken to loud meowing coming from across the hall, and you groggily sit up, rubbing your eyes and realizing that you’re still in the living room. The room is full of bright light, and you quickly look at your phone to see what time it is: 2:07. Yeah, after the day you had, it makes sense that you’ve slept almost twelve hours.

Thinking of yesterday reminds you of John, and you suddenly feel wide awake as you sit up and look around for the note he’d left. You find it on the floor beside the couch, and you unfold it to read it again, eyes scanning the words a few times to remind yourself that last night hadn’t been some weird fever dream born out of lack of sleep. It had happened. You find it comforting to have something tangible to prove that John is real, that you really had helped him, that the strong connection you’d felt wasn’t something you made up in your head.

However, the note does remind you that he’s gone, and you feel your heart sink as you close the piece of paper again. You hear another meow and you realize that Fitz is still trapped in your bedroom. “Fuck.” you jump up, letting the blankets that still smell like John fall off you as you run across the hall to your room. As soon as you open the door, Fitz sprints out and practically trips over his own legs on the way to his litter box. “Sorry!” you call after him.

You walk over to your nightstand and open the drawer, carefully placing the note inside for safe keeping. You’re about to leave the room when your phone buzzes, and you look down to see an alert from the hospital – notifying you that they’re understaffed and need you to come in. You sigh deeply, tossing it onto your bed. “And life goes on.” you say under your breath, and head to the bathroom.

—–

The next few days pass surprisingly quickly. Due to the hospital being understaffed, you find yourself much busier than usual – and to be honest, you’re grateful. You know that if you have too much free time, you won’t be able to stop your mind from focusing completely on John, which you’ve caught yourself doing way too much already. Although, even at your busiest moments you’ve still found yourself thinking of him. There had been a patient on Wednesday who’d come limping into the hospital in a tattered suit, and for a split second you’d thought it was him. You’d practically sprinted over before realizing it wasn’t John at all, and actually a man who’d been in a car accident on the way to a wedding.

The worry you feel is unparalleled, and you have absolutely no idea why this feeling of protectiveness for John is so strong, especially when you really know nothing about him. You just can’t get your brain to shut up, your mind running all the possible negative scenarios whenever you get a moment alone.  _Who’s going to keep an eye on his stitches? Who’s going to watch for infection? Who’s going to patch him up again if something else happens?_ You suppose the reason you feel so strongly is because of how bizarre the situation is; how often do you find someone lying in a bush outside your apartment with knife and bullet wounds? And how often do you not call paramedics upon the request of the patient? It just doesn’t happen.

_But that connection you’d felt to him…._

It’s especially hard when you’re at home, sitting on the couch you’d fixed him up on. Even after a week, you still find that it smells like him. You’re not even sure if the smell is really there or just something you’re making up in your head, which really makes you wonder if there’s something wrong with you. It can’t be normal to think about someone you barely know  _this much_. And you hate to admit it, but it’s become a habit of yours to check the bushes outside your apartment every time you come home, a small part of you hoping that he’ll be there.

Eight days pass in this manner before you start to give up hope of ever seeing him again, despite his note saying he’d somehow return the favour. You’ve read it so much you have it memorized, another fact you’re not very proud of.  _He probably just said that to be polite. Sooner or later you’re going to have to just accept it and move on._ You keep your medical supplies well stocked anyway, just in case.

—–

You’re watching a movie with Fitz on your ninth night since seeing John, although you’re not really paying attention. An elderly patient you’d been administering medication to for the past month had passed away, and even though you’d been expecting it, you still feel drained. It’s always hard when people die on your watch, even when there’s nothing you can do about it. You’re vaguely aware of the movie being a romantic comedy, but you don’t really have anything to laugh about right now.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. Fitz springs off the couch immediately and you follow suit, albeit at a much slower pace. There’s a lump in your throat, and your heart begins to pound in your chest; you  _never_  have visitors. The only people that ever stop by your apartment are your landlord and your friends from the hospital when they’re picking you up to go out, which – with you being an incredibly introverted person – is pretty rare. Fitz is already at the front door, but you can’t bring yourself to walk at a quicker pace, your nerves taking over.  _Could it be…?_

Whoever it is knocks again, and you internally scream at yourself for going so fucking slow. You finally reach the door and unlock the deadbolt, keeping the chain lock in place just in case. You open it as far as the chain allows, and inhale sharply when you see the person on the other side.

“Hi,” he says, voice soft – you can’t believe how much you’ve missed it. “Can I come in?”

You practically slam the door shut to undo the chain, fingers trembling slightly, almost worried that he’ll disappear if you take too long. But when you open it again he’s still standing there, and while he looks better than he did the last time you saw him, he’s certainly still not in very good shape. He’s wearing another suit, but this one is different, a three piece made of blue and grey material. You don’t see any blood but his hand is holding tight to his left side, and you have a bad feeling that he’s covering a bullet wound.

“Of course,” you reply, a little breathlessly. You usher him in, arm reaching around him protectively. “Are you shot?” you can’t believe how casual you sound saying it, but suddenly it seems like a very normal thing to ask.

“No, but I think I broke a rib.” he says, wincing a bit as you help him inside and shut the door, “And some of my stitches popped, I can feel it.”

You pull out one of your kitchen chairs and gesture for him to sit down, releasing your hold on him as you leave the room, “I’ll get my supplies.”

Everything you need is in the medicine cabinet, now fully stocked. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, cringing at your holey sweater and messy hair; you remember that you certainly hadn’t looked glamorous last time either, and it makes you feel a little better as you grab the supplies and head back to the kitchen. You grab the ice, bourbon, and a glass and place it on the table, pouring him a drink without even asking if he wants one; you just know that he does.

“Thank you.” he says, immediately reaching for it and taking a long sip.

“You’re welcome.” you reply softly, and reach forward to touch his jacket lightly, “Help me take this off?”

He places the glass back on the table and relaxes his shoulders so you can remove the blazer, revealing more of the vest underneath. You find yourself kneeling down to carefully unbutton it, heart beating fast when you sense him watching you. “So…” you say, trying to distract from the fact that you’re on your knees in front of him. “What’s with the suits?”

“Huh?”

You finish the last button and reach up to pull the vest off his shoulders, laying it carefully on one of the other chairs before removing his tie and beginning to unbutton his dress shirt. “This is the second time you’ve been here and the second time you’ve showed up in a suit,” you try not to focus on the skin you’re exposing, the muscle you feel beneath your fingers, “It can’t be the most comfortable thing to wear when you’re – uh – doing whatever you’re doing.”

You’re met with silence, and you look up to see that he’s no longer looking at you, attention instead diverted to Fitz who you’ve just noticed is still standing by the front door, hair raised. You release John’s shirt and stand, walking slowly over to him, “It’s okay, buddy.” you carefully reach down and pick him up, carrying him over to the kitchen table and ignoring the pressure of his claws against your sweater.

“This,” you say, placing Fitz on the table beside the supplies and scratching his head. “is Fitzgerald. Fitz for short.” he hisses and you shush him, gently trailing your hands up and down his back. “It’s okay, Fitz. This is John. We like John.” you look up as you say this and see a hint of a smile on John’s face.

“Any relation to F. Scott Fitzgerald?” he asks teasingly, watching as you continue to calm Fitz down.

You laugh, nodding. “Actually, yeah, that’s who he’s named after. The Great Gatsby is my favorite book.” Fitz begins to relax under your touch, nose in the air as he sniffs the unfamiliar guest.

John chuckles to himself, reaching his hand towards Fitz. You’re about to warn him but you realize that a nip or scratch from a cat is nothing compared to the shit he’s dealt with. You tighten your grip a bit on Fitz, holding him in place as John’s fingers lightly scratch behind his ear. “Hey, Fitz.” he says quietly, and you feel your inexplicable fondness for him growing as you watch him interact with your baby. “Nice to meet you.”

You watch in awe as Fitz leans in to the touch and starts to purr, settling onto the table and closing his eyes as John continues to scratch him gently. Smiling to yourself, you let go of him and kneel in front of John once more, feeling less nervous now that his attention is focused elsewhere. You haven’t forgotten the fact that he didn’t answer your question, but you know better than to ask it again. Instead, you finish unbuttoning his shirt, the room silent aside from the sound of Fitz purring.

“Oh, John…” you breathe, hand coming up to gently touch the dark bruise beginning to bloom on his ribs. His skin is just as soft as you remember, and your fingers trail down his abdomen to one of the wounds you’d stitched, sutures clearly out of place. “These need to come out.” you say softly, peering down at the others. “They all do, probably. And I need to clean the wounds again before they get infected.”

You stand and pull up a chair, positioning it in front of him and sitting down to grab the necessary supplies. You feel his gaze back on you, and your eyes travel over to his face; he’s looking at you almost quizzically, like he’s searching for something. “What?” you ask, looking back down at your tools.

“I’m just…” he trails off, still absentmindedly petting Fitz, “I didn’t expect to be sitting here, I guess. I think I half expected you to slam the door in my face.”

You shake your head, carefully dipping your scissors in antiseptic. “Didn’t even cross my mind.”

“Why?” he asks it quickly, and you look up to find that he’s still staring at you, eyes suddenly locked with yours. “Why are you helping me?”

You feel yourself shrug, trying to find the right words. “Because…it’s my job,” you bite your lip, “And I think, as a nurse, the very idea of turning away someone who needs medical assistance will literally get me a one way ticket to hell.”

He laughs, and you smile as you inch forward on the chair and bring your tweezers to the first suture. “So you’re doing this,” he winces as you begin to tug, “to save yourself from eternal damnation.” he stops petting Fitz to grab his glass of bourbon, taking a quick sip, “That’s fair.”

“Well, that – and because I like you.” you don’t look at his face when you say it, but you feel your cheeks warm at your confidence, snipping the stitches with your scissors. “And besides, you did come here again, didn’t you? You must have had some hope I’d let you in.”

“…Yes,” he replies, a little hesitantly. He watches you place the removed string on the table and move on to the next wound, his index finger circling the rim of his glass. “I did hope.”

You sit in silence again for a few moments, but there’s no tension or awkwardness. You finish removing his stitches and assess the results, trying not to focus on how warm his skin is under your fingers and how your wrist brushes lightly against one of his nipples. You know he’s still watching you work, and you wonder if he’s feeling the same connection that you are; the charge of electricity running between the two of you with every touch.

“This will sting a little but it won’t be anywhere near as bad as last time.” you say as you grab the antiseptic and a cloth, gently padding it across his wounds. He doesn’t even flinch, just takes another sip of bourbon. “John, can I ask you a question?”

You can immediately sense his guard going up, no longer watching you and instead petting Fitz again, hand stroking back and forth against his head, “Sure.”

Continuing to clean, you bite your lip and hope you’re not about to ruin everything. “What – uh – what happened?” your eyes fall to the bruise on his ribs. “Who did this to you?”

Silence. Then:

“That’s two questions.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head and putting the cloth on the table, “Why did I think I’d actually get an answer?” you say with a teasing smile. “And yes, I know – that’s three questions, now.”

Despite keeping a casual exterior, you’re pretty frustrated with John’s lack of explanation. You don’t feel like you’re necessarily owed answers, but it certainly would help you feel a bit better to know more about the person you’re very quickly becoming quite attached to. Your hands move to his ribs, lightly touching the rapidly forming bruise, “I need to you stand up so I can get a better look at this.”

He does as he’s told, walking forward a bit so you have some space to analyze the area. You lean down, one hand pressed flat against his chest and the other on his ribs. You push your index and middle fingers against the bruise and he inhales sharply, his right hand coming up to touch your back. The feeling of his hand pressed firmly between your shoulder blades sends shivers down your spine.

“Sorry,” you say softly, cupping the area as gently as possible and feeling for any fractures. You’re incredibly close to him, and you can feel his heartbeat beneath your palm, picking up speed the more you touch him. You figure it’s from the pain, but a small part of you hopes it’s the feeling of your skin against his. God, when did you become  _this_  unprofessional?

“Broken?” he asks quietly, and you’re so close that you can feel his breath on the back of your neck as he looks down at you.

Your hand travels to the side of his ribs, thumb running along the bones slowly and precisely; his hand tightens on your back. “Doesn’t feel like it.” you almost whisper, the tips of your fingers running gently along his left side. You stand, straightening up in front of him. His hand stays firm on your back. “Can you hand me my stethoscope? By Fitz’s tail.”

John reaches his other arm out towards the table, grabbing it for you and handing it over. He watches, eyes deep and interested as you bring it to your ears and press the cold metal to his chest, making him flinch. “Cold.” he says with a quiet laugh.

“Yeah, sorry, should’ve warned you.” you say, smiling fondly at him. “Breathe in for me?”

He inhales – wincing a bit – and your hand stays cupped to his ribs, feeling for any signs of distress as you listen to his breathing. “And exhale.”

He breathes out through his mouth, warm air hitting your temple. He smells so good.

“I don’t hear any trauma in your lungs. Breathe in again?” he does as he’s told, and you nod to confirm your suspicions. “Yeah, there’s nothing broken but you definitely bruised them badly. They’re gonna hurt like hell tomorrow.” you put the stethoscope back on the table and smile up at him. “You’re lucky, you know. I mean…you didn’t tell me what happened but I know it could have been so much worse. Ribs are pretty fragile.”

For once, he doesn’t break eye contact with you at the mention of his activities. Instead, his tongue darts out to quickly lick his lips, and he swallows almost nervously. “I…” he licks them again, and you realize this must be a nervous habit he has. “I was finishing up some…business.”

You nod slowly, eyebrows furrowing. “Business.” it’s not a question.

“Yes.” he says, inhaling deeply and wincing again in pain.

“And last week?”

He hesitates, trying to find the words. “The same business, more or less.”

“But you finished said business tonight.”

“Yes.”

“So, you’re done? That’s it?”

Silence.  _Well that answers that._

“I figured.” you say quietly, and you can’t help but touch your hand to his face, your thumb stroking the faded scar underneath his eye that you’d noticed the other night while he’d been sleeping. “This is part of your job – isn’t it, John? Getting hurt?”

He stares at you, and you get the feeling that he’s holding his breath. You feel your stomach tighten as your thumb trails down to trace another scar on his cheek, this one more prominent. It looks mere days old. You don’t say anything, just allow your fingers to travel down his chin, his neck, his collarbone. You spot the scar you’d touched the other night, the one that had made him grab your wrist. Hesitantly, your index finger begins to trace it, your eyes peering up to lock with his.

He doesn’t stop you.

“Am I right?” you whisper, and you realize you’ve also stopped breathing. You feel yourself unconsciously moving closer to him, head leaning up toward his. His hand on your back is ever present, and you swear he’s pulling you in. The smell of him is everywhere, safe and familiar.

He swallows, and suddenly you feel his other hand on your chin, fingers tilting your head up. His brown eyes are soft, welcoming. Your left hand comes up to touch his back, and you know your fingers are grazing one of his tattoos. Unconsciously, your eyes close, mouth opening slightly as you wait for his lips to touch yours.

But it doesn’t happen. Instead, his hand drops from your back, and when you open your eyes you see that he’s pulling away to sit back down in the chair, hand running through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he says, avoiding eye contact once again.

“Don’t be.” you say, breathless, sitting down across from him once more. “Really.”

He didn’t answer your question but you don’t really care at the moment, not after that almost-kiss. You have no idea what came over you, or him, but you wish it had lasted a few seconds longer – and you’re suddenly dying to know what it feels like to have his lips against yours, to know what he tastes like. Your eyes fall to his lips, full beneath his scruff, and you feel that familiar ache between your legs.  _I want him so bad._

You quickly snap yourself out of your incredibly inappropriate thoughts, bringing your fingers to the bridge of your nose and trying to remember what you were about to do.  _Oh yeah, ice packs._  You get up from the chair and walk to the freezer, grabbing the ice packs that you’d placed there earlier in the week just in case this very situation should arise. You grab a towel from the table and sit down in front of John again.

“Lift up your arms, I’m gonna make a sling for these.” he does so, exposing his underarms, thick with hair and covered in more scars; stab wounds. You can’t imagine the pain that John has experienced in his lifetime, or even fathom why he’s continuing to put himself through it. It hurts your heart to see the evidence of what he’s endured.

You tie the towel around him, placing the ice packs in the sling area near his ribs. “Cold warning.” you say, and he smiles softly. “This will help ease the pain until I can give you painkillers. Do you still have any left from what I gave-” you stop yourself, “I mean, from what you took?”

He looks at you, smile fading slightly. “Y/N, I’m sorry. For…leaving the way I did. It was rude and unkind, especially after everything you did for me.” he looks away. “At that time…it was dangerous for me to stay with you for too long. I was being followed. I didn’t want…” he continues to struggle to find the words, clearly still trying not to let too much slip. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

You nod, continuing to adjust the ice packs even though they’re already in their proper place. “So…does that mean you’re leaving again tonight?” your eyes pan up and he’s looking at you again.

“I really don’t want to impose-”

“Are you still being followed?” you interrupt, releasing the ice packs and leaning back on the chair to cross your arms.

“Well, no, but-”

“Then you’re staying. Until morning this time.” you stand, pulling your supplies together on the table and waking Fitz, who’s been sleeping for the past half an hour. “Non-negotiable, sorry.”

You can feel his gaze practically burning a hole in you as you gather everything into your arms and head to the bathroom to put it away. You look in the mirror again and you suddenly feel like a new person, the confidence practically glowing on your face. After being so close to kissing him, and knowing that he thought about it – even for the smallest of moments –  you feel sexier than ever; you haven’t felt this good in a long time.

When you return to the kitchen, he’s still sitting there, seemingly lost in thought. You take the bottle of bourbon and twist the cap back on, placing it back in your liquor cabinet, “No more of this, I want you to take some medicine around three. And I want you to sleep in my bed, I’ll take the couch.”

“I couldn’t-”

“Those ribs will  _not_  do well on my uncomfortable lump of a couch.” you interrupt again, surprising yourself by bringing a finger to his lips, soft and supple against your skin. “Seriously, John. Just do what I say this time.”

He stares at you again, and your finger drops from his lips. You busy yourself by pouring a tall glass of water and shaking a couple pills into your palm for John to take later, placing them on the table.

“I can’t figure you out.” he suddenly says, quietly, almost to himself.

You look up, confused. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Most people would want to get as far away from me as possible after what happened last week.” he shakes his head, “Hell, most people wouldn’t have helped me the first time, let alone a second time. I mean, it was…bold of me to come here again, I know that.” he’s speaking more now than he ever has, and you can tell he’s been thinking of what to say for a while. “But I… there’s just…. there’s something about you…” he trails off, still trying to figure out what to say.

You can tell John isn’t a man of many words; he’s much more thoughtful than verbal – but what he’s saying is twisting your stomach in knots in the best possible way.  _Please continue_ , you want to say, but you let him take a moment to think, your heart racing.

“You…you’re not most people.” he says it with finality, looking at you intensely. “Letting me stay here?”

“ _Forcing_  you to stay here is probably more accurate.” you say with a smile, “But keep going.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Cracking jokes?” he gestures toward you. “Acting against your better judgment, against what you’ve been taught? People don’t do that, Y/N. They just don’t.”

“You must not meet many nice people then.” you say, uncrossing your arms and reaching forward to touch his hand. He lets you turn it over, your thumb running along some minor cuts that have already begun to heal. “I’m not doing this because I feel obligated, John. Or because I feel like I.. can’t get out of it or something. I’m helping you because I want to.” you slowly rotate the ring on his finger, and you feel his hand tense up. “And as long as you’re out there, doing whatever it is you’re doing, I’ll be here.”

His hand slowly entwines with yours, and you look back at his face to find that he’s looking down at them, watching how your fingers fit together.

“But why?” he murmurs.

You exhale, revelling in the feeling of his strong hand in yours. “Honestly? I don’t know. I guess….” his eyes come up to meet yours, and you smile, cheeks warming. “You’re not like most people I’ve met, either.”

He smiles back, absolutely beautiful, but releases your hand and brings his own back up to Fitz, who’s fallen asleep again. He lightly brushes his knuckles against the back of his head, and your heart melts. “I think this little guy has the right idea.” he says, eyes darting towards the clock on the microwave; 12:13 AM. “I’m exhausted.”

“I’m not surprised.” you say, standing up. “I’ll show you to my bedroom.”

As you head down the hall you realize you have no idea what sort of state your room is in; you can’t remember if you put your laundry in the basket or left it on the floor, and – more importantly – you can’t remember if you put your vibrator back in its proper drawer or not. You walk a little bit of ahead of him, opening the door first and peering inside to assess the situation. Luckily, it’s nowhere near as messy as your mind was making it out to be, and your vibrator is safely hidden away. You open it wider and you both enter.

“Sheets are freshly washed, I’m a bit of a neat freak.” you say, a bit nervous as you walk forward and pull the blankets back. “It’s a pretty comfortable bed but, who knows, maybe it’s terrible and I’ve just gotten used to it.”

He smiles, walking toward you, “I’m sure it’s fine.”

You’re still painfully aware of the fact that he’s not wearing a shirt, the makeshift sling being the only item covering his torso. You reach for it carefully, adjusting it on his shoulder. “That should help you through the night. I’m gonna set an alarm for three so I can give you some meds and check up on you.”

He knows better than to argue at this point. Instead, he sits on the edge of the bed and yawns, kicking out of his shoes and lying back against your sheets.

“I’ll – uh – leave you alone now.” you say, slightly embarrassed about how much you’re mothering him; you can’t help it – you’re a nurse, it’s literally your job to be overbearing. “I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.”

He smiles up at you, then brings his hand up and crooks his finger toward himself. You stare at it for a few seconds, then back at his face, trying to figure out what he means. He crooks it again, laughing a little breathlessly, “Come here.” he says softly.

You swallow, leaning down slowly. His hand is suddenly holding the back of your head, bringing you further down, and you can feel his fingers tangling gently in your hair. You’re so close to his face, eyes soft and warm as he smiles at you and leans up to press his lips to your cheek. Your eyes close as if by their own accord, and all you can focus on is the feeling of his mouth, hot and wet against your skin.

He pulls back a few inches, then places his mouth against your ear, “Goodnight.” he whispers, and you feel tingles up and down your spine, worried your legs might give out from underneath you. “And thank you.”

Slowly, and regretfully, you stand again. You know you’re red, but you’re past the point of caring. “Goodnight.” you say, voice faint. “And you’re welcome.”

You walk toward the door, reaching for the light switch and placing your finger on it. Before switching it off, you turn to look at him again, and he’s peering up at you from beneath the blankets.

“You better be here when I wake up.” it’s teasing but firm, and he grins, settling against the pillow.

“I will be.” he replies, soft and sincere. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please feel free to like/reblog this chapter on tumblr: [chapter 4](https://keanubot.tumblr.com/post/177435807835/catastrophe-reigns-john-wickreader-chapter-4)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** 2k
> 
> **warnings:** injuries, medication, you know the drill

Your couch truly is one of the most uncomfortable things you’ve ever slept on, but you make do. You’re not expecting to sleep much anyway, your mind racing with the events of tonight and everything John had said to you. He hadn’t revealed much, but at least you have a bit more information about the mysterious man currently sleeping in your bed. His lack of answer to your question regarding his job had spoken volumes, so naturally all you can think about is what he could possibly be. Part of the mob? A hitman? An assassin?

You’re honestly surprised at yourself for not being as unsettled as you probably should be. The fact that he’s being injured so much most likely means that he spends a lot of his time injuring other people too, but you can’t help but feel in your gut that he has his reasons; you don’t think he’s a bad person. There must be an explanation, and you just hope he’ll feel ready to share it with you at some point.

After drifting into a relatively short and light sleep, you wake to the alarm on your phone going off. You shut it off and sit up, your back aching slightly from the uncomfortable surface; yeah, this definitely wouldn’t have been a good place for John to sleep, not with his ribs in the condition they are. You climb off the couch, trying not to disturb Fitz who’s fast asleep on the other end, and head to the kitchen to grab John’s painkillers and some water. You feel a sense of relief when you see that his shirt, vest, and tie haven’t moved from their spot on one of the chairs. _He’s still here._

You make your way to your bedroom, hesitating for a moment and wondering whether or not you should knock. You decide to knock gently a few times before turning the knob and entering the room, turning the light on and being careful not to spill any water, “Hey John, it’s time for-” you freeze.

Something’s wrong.

You rush over to the bed, practically slamming the glass of water down on your night stand, your hands on John’s face almost immediately. He’s burning up, his pulse fast and desperate, and his skin is shining with sweat. He looks up at you, mouth open slightly as a gasp escapes his mouth, “W-What’s happening?”

“I don’t know.” you say, your voice frantic as you pull the blankets back, the sheets soaked. “Do you feel any pain?”

“My leg.” he gasps, “The gunshot.”

Oh fuck. You suddenly realize that you’d failed to examine his bullet wound earlier, too caught up in the almost-kiss that left you breathless and dazed. It had clearly had the same effect on John, as he definitely hadn’t mentioned it or reminded you to have a look. Without even asking, you reach forward and begin to unbuckle his belt, pulling it out of the loops and unbuttoning his pants. You drag the zipper down and tug them off, your eyes widening when you see the wound. The stitches are loose and his skin is discolored, an unpleasant dark yellow.

“Oh, fuck.” you’re trying to stay calm but failing miserably; you hadn’t expected this.

“What?” he looks down to see and you push him back against the pillows, not wanting to freak him out.

“Don’t look at it, it’s infected.” you tuck your hair behind your ear and breathe deeply, trying to clear your head. “I forgot to check it earlier, I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an-”

“Shut up.” you stand, staring down at the man lying in your bed in only his underwear, hating how your eyes can’t help but dart toward the bulge beneath his boxers. “Sorry, I just…okay, hold on. Don’t look at it.” you repeat, not sure if you’re talking to him or yourself.

You run to the bathroom and grab your supplies, but there’s a nagging thought in the back of your mind that’s getting louder by the second:  _This isn’t gonna do it. He needs antibiotics._ You shove it away for the moment and focus on what you can do right now, returning to your bedroom and kneeling by your bed. John is burning up, his skin pale and sickly and his hair dripping with sweat. You reach up and slick some of it back, getting it out of his eyes as he shakes beneath your touch.

“Do you feel nauseous?” you ask, your thumb stroking his cheek gently.

“Y-yeah,” he breathes, exhaling loudly. “But I’ll be fine, I don’t need you to-”

“Sorry I keep telling to shut up, but you need to shut up.” your voice is soft, your other hand coming up to hold his head in your hands as you peer down into his eyes, tired and heavy lidded, “Listen, John – I know you don’t want to hear this, but there’s only so much I can do here. I’m gonna try my best, but I think you’ll probably have to go to the hospital.”

His reaction is visceral, his breath coming out even quicker as he reaches up to grip your arm like he’d done that first night, shaking his head, “No.” he says, making a huge effort to lean up from the pillow. “No hospitals, you know that.”

You look down at his wound again, biting down on your lip and then turning back to him, “John, all I can do is clean it; get rid of the stitches, apply a dressing… that’s it. I don’t have antibiotics.”

He falls back onto the pillow, wincing, “I’ve survived much worse, believe me.”

His nonchalance over serious injuries will never fail to make your blood boil as you tug out of his grip and begin to clean your tools. You wonder if you’ll ever be out of the woods when it comes to this man; does he even know what normal is? Because this isn’t normal.

You carefully remove the stitches, which makes the situation a bit better but not by much. You leave the room once to soak a cold cloth and then come back to place it across John’s forehead, hoping it’ll bring his fever down while you figure out what the fuck you’re going to do in regards to medication. Your mind is going a million miles a minute as you clean his wound and cover it carefully with a bandage, trying to come up with something,  _anything_  that will make this better. You have an idea but you keep pushing it away, not wanting to accept that it’s the only option.

“What are you thinking?” you hear, and you look up to see that John is peering at you quizzically, clearly noticing that your thoughts have been running amuck for the past ten minutes.

You sigh, pulling your hands away from the bandage and leaning back to sit on the floor, closing your eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m thinking.”

Silence. At least he’s letting you take a breather instead of saying more bullshit about how he doesn’t need any help. You’re not sure where this man got such a strong sense of pride, but it’s exhausting. He’s certainly out of his comfort zone in asking anyone for help, and the fact that he refuses to go to the hospital leaves you in the position of being the one to help him. And you’re not complaining, you’re not, but you suddenly feel incredibly lost. At least up until this point you’d had the items needed to help him; now you feel powerless to the infection in his leg, knowing that your only salvation lies in a prescription for antibiotics, a prescription you’re not legally allowed to give him without signed permission from a doctor.

You’re stuck.

“God,” you breathe, pressing your palms to your forehead and opening your eyes, “I am so out of my element here. What the fuck am I gonna do?” you’re talking to yourself, not John, but you’re very aware of the fact that he’s watching you. “How the hell am I gonna get antibiotics? At 4 o’clock in the morning? Legally?”

You sigh deeply, shaking your head and biting down hard on your lip. The room continues to stay silent aside from John’s heavy breathing. And then -

“Y/N…” he says softly, voice tired and scratchy. “I’m so sorry.”

You look up at him, suddenly realizing that you’re crying. “Why are you sorry?” you sniff, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.

He sighs, breath shaky. “The amount of trouble I’ve caused you…the amount of trouble I’m  _causing_ you…I’m not worth it. I’m really not.”

You stand almost immediately, leaning over him and shaking your head urgently, “No, John. No. Don’t start with that shit, okay?” you reach down and grab his hand, holding it tightly in yours. “We’re gonna figure this out, I promise.”

“This isn’t your problem to figure out.” His other hand reaches up to touch your face, his thumb wiping some of your tears away. “I know you’re a nurse – you’re the best damn nurse I’ve ever met. But I’m not your patient, I’m just a guy. And I can figure it out.” You feel his fingers trace the skin behind your ear, and you shiver. “I’ve survived this long, haven’t I?” he smiles at you, soft and beautiful.

Suddenly, you can’t think, can’t let your brain fully process his words because you’re too distracted by the way his eyes are staring into yours. There’s so much in them, so much history; a life that you know nothing about. It’s intriguing, and electrifying.  _And the way he’s looking at you_ , like you’re the only person in the world, it makes your heart stutter.

“John, I…” you trail off, unsure of what to say.

Your eyes fall to his mouth, lips parted as his smile slowly fades. When you look back into his eyes, something’s changed – you can both sense it, that familiar electricity running between the two of you once more. You lean in slowly, and his hand squeezes yours as you gently press your lips to his, soft and sweet.

The kiss lasts only a few seconds, and when you pull away you allow yourself to look into his eyes again to see his reaction. His eyes slowly open as he peers up at you.

“Sorry,” you whisper, still hovering a few inches above his face.

He smiles softly, shaking his head. “Don’t be, come here.” You suddenly feel his hand on the back of your head, pulling your face down towards his. Your mouths meet again and you gasp, breathing his scent in deeply and letting the feeling of his scruff against the corners of your lips overwhelm you. His hand stays firm against your hair, holding you in place. You suddenly sense urgency in the kiss, and you realize it’s your own.

Because you’ve just decided what you’re going to do. And kissing John was all it took to make the choice.

You pull back again, his hand loosening on your head but still holding you above him, his eyes searching yours.

“I have to go.” You say quietly, pushing his hair back again and smiling at how beautiful he is, despite being covered in a sheen of sweat. “I need you to try and sleep, okay?”

“Where are you going?” he whispers.

 You touch both hands to his cheeks, leaning down to press one more feather-light kiss to his lips.

 “Just sleep. I’ll be back soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please feel free to like/reblog this chapter on tumblr: [chapter 5](https://keanubot.tumblr.com/post/177996165885/catastrophe-reigns-john-wickreader-chapter-5)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** 2.7k
> 
> **warnings:** hmmm a bit nsfw…blink  & you’ll miss it

You don’t know where your sudden burst of confidence had come from, but as you leave your apartment you feel as if you can do absolutely anything. That kiss – you have no idea what had come over you. Your lips are still tingling from the feeling of John’s mouth against yours, soft and warm. Obviously the circumstances hadn’t been the most romantic, but you kind of like that; it’s…fitting. And it’s just what you needed to get through the task ahead of you.

You’d decided after kissing him that your only option was the best option. However…stealing medical supplies from the hospital you work in certainly isn’t legal in any way, and if caught, you’d not only lose your medical license – you’d, in all likelihood, get thrown in jail.

So, needless to say, you’re going to avoid that happening at all costs.

You slide into the backseat of the cab that’s waiting outside, giving the driver the hospital address and glancing back at your apartment as you drive away. John had promised he’d try and sleep, but you know he’s probably lying awake, wondering what you’re doing. He seemed to have an idea, and he’d attempted to stop you but it had been futile; your main priority is helping him, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

As you drive to the hospital, you plan – as much as you can in such a short amount of time, anyway. You need antibiotics, and you know exactly what floor you’ll find them on, so all you need to figure out is how you’re going to get there without being seen or having to use your hospital ID. It seems almost impossible, but you don’t really have a choice. You figure you’ll just…figure it out when you get there.

The drive seems much shorter than usual, and before you know it you’re standing at the front entrance to the hospital, pulling your hood up to protect yourself as rain suddenly begins to fall above you; that’s certainly a bad omen.

Going through the front door is probably your worst bet for getting caught, so you walk along the side of the hospital to one of the other entrances more commonly used for staff. The fact that you work here and already know the ins and outs of this place is definitely a plus. It makes you feel that much more sneaky though, and guilty. But you push it away and concentrate on John, remembering that he’s back at your apartment waiting for you. It’s more than enough to convince you to keep going.

It’s almost five in the morning but the sky is still dark, and you make a silent agreement with yourself that you’ll be out of here before the sun comes up. That gives you about twenty minutes or so. You reach the side door and are relieved to see that there’s no staff hanging around outside on their break; you suppose you can thank the sudden rainfall for that.

_Okay_ , you take a deep breath,  _here goes nothing._

The hallway is empty, and you take down your hood as you begin to walk, figuring that it’ll probably draw more attention if you look like you’re sneaking around. The hospital is pretty big, and you’re hoping that you won’t run into any members of the staff who recognize you. All you really need to do is avoid the other nurses.

You decide to use the stairwell instead of the elevator; most of the staff avoid using this method because the elevator is much quicker and easier, so you don’t think you’ll run into anyone. You climb the stairs quickly, mentally cursing yourself for not being more fit; you’re already out of breath after the first flight, and you have three more to go. The look on John’s face after you’d kissed him paints your eyelids, and it pushes you forward.

You finally reach the right floor and carefully push the door open, poking your head through and peering back and forth along the hallway. Nobody.

God, maybe the universe is actually on your side for once.

You walk quickly down the corridor, terrified that at any second someone’s going to come around the corner and see you. You’ve become pretty well acquainted with the staff who work at the pharmacy, and you know for a fact that they’d recognize you if they saw you. You’d thought about writing a prescription and forging a doctor’s signature, but if it went wrong they’d know immediately that it was you who’d done it. So instead, you hope against hope that there’s no one there. The pharmacy staff tend to take breaks pretty often, which usually pisses off the rest of the staff when there’s prescriptions to be filled. You remember complaining about it to one of the doctors last month; now you couldn’t be more grateful when you reach the pharmacy counter and see that no one is there.

You don’t have a key, and you’ve already decided that you want to avoid using your hospital ID at all costs. Your eyes scan the shelves behind the counter, praying that what you need is there and not in the locked room where the rest of the medications are kept. You freeze when you spot it, your heart beating frantically when you realize it’s  _right there_.

Glancing up and down the hallway once more, you climb onto the counter and hop down onto the other side, grabbing the container of pills. You read the patient name along the side: Paul S. King.

_Sorry, Paul._

You shove the container into the pocket of your hoodie and climb back over the counter, heart still racing. You can’t believe how fucking easy that was. You practically sprint back to the stairwell, yanking open the door and preparing to make your way back down the stairs. However, before the door closes behind you, you hear something. You freeze, turning back around and carefully peeking your head out again to make sure you aren’t being followed. You spot someone across the hall, wearing surgery scrubs and sliding their ID into the card slot to unlock the surgery supply room.

Closing the door slightly so you can’t be seen, you watch as they enter and the door ever so slowly closes behind them, one of those heavy slow-closing doors that don’t make any noise. You know you should be halfway down the stairs by now, but something keeps you stuck in place, watching and waiting.

You only came to get antibiotics, that was the plan. But standing here and knowing that there’s anesthetic just beyond your reach… it’s hard to walk away. You’re planning for the future, and anesthetic is definitely something you’re gonna need if you want to continue helping John. You have the option of no longer having to put him through even more pain than he’s already suffered, and it’s incredibly difficult to pass up.

The person emerges from the room, supplies in hand, and rushes down the hallway to return to surgery. You only have a few seconds, and as soon as they disappear around the corner you sprint across the hall and stop the door from closing just in time. You’ve only been in this room a few times; you’re not a scrub nurse and you only ever attended surgeries during medical school, so there’s not really a need for you to come here usually. You scan the shelves, trying to control your breathing as you search for the local anesthetic.

You spot the vials and quickly run over to them, grabbing two and knowing that it’ll be more than enough. You see a box of syringes and grab a few packages of them, shoving everything into your pockets as best you can. Before you know it you’re slipping out of the room and back to the stairwell, unable to stop a smile from forming on your face as you hit the last step and open up the door you came in.

It’s still raining, but the sun is beginning to peek out from behind the clouds, and you smile even wider when you realize that you managed to get out in under twenty minutes. You pull your phone out as you walk and see that it had only taken you ten.

You decide to speed-walk up the street and over a few blocks, calling a cab on your way and giving them the nearest Starbucks as your location. It’s not open, of course, but you figure it’s better for you to wait outside a closed coffee shop than at the busy hospital where you just stole medical supplies. You sit down on a bench to wait, not caring that it’s wet seeing as you’re already soaked. Your pockets are bulging with the supplies, and you cross your arms to hide the evidence.

You know you should feel shitty…like you just betrayed your entire career or something dramatic like that. But you just…don’t. If anything, you feel free, weightless, like you can do anything, just like you’d felt after kissing John. You suppose you’re still riding that high, or maybe breaking the rules is just a high in itself. You’ve certainly lived a pretty by-the-book existence up to this point, that’s for sure. John coming into your life has changed everything, and you’re not complaining.

The taxi pulls up in front of you and you get inside, giving the driver your address. As you drive away, you can’t help but keep smiling. You remember earlier, before John had showed up again, when you’d been watching that movie with Fitz and feeling sad about the patient you’d lost… you truly had no idea what was coming, how your night was gonna unfold. You didn’t know that in less than twelve hours you’d be sitting in the backseat of a cab with stolen medical supplies and somehow feeling on top of the world.

“Had a good night?” the driver asks, noticing your grin in his mirror.

You look at him, smile widening.

“You have no idea.”

—–

You open the door to your apartment and rush inside, shutting it behind you and running towards your bedroom, not caring that you’re getting water everywhere. The light is on and John is sitting up in bed, hand against his mouth, seemingly deep in thought. He turns to look at you, relief washing over his face.

“I was worried about you.” he says, and your cheeks warm.

“No need, I got the goods.” you reply with a smile, pulling the antibiotics out of your pocket and laying them on your night stand. You place the back of your hand against his forehead; he’s still burning up. “Okay, I need you to take two of these.” You shake two pills from the container and hand them to him, pushing the glass of water you’d filled earlier closer.

He does as he’s told, watching as you pull everything else from your pockets and place it on the night stand. You unzip your hoodie and throw it into your laundry basket, then sit back down on the bed. You pull the sheets back and look at John’s infection, cringing. “I’m so sorry, John. I can’t believe I let that happen.”

He shakes his head, putting the water back down. “It was infected before tonight, Y/N. I’m the one who let it happen.”

“But I should’ve-”

He reaches forward and places a finger against your lips, “Shut up.”

You smile against his finger, rolling your eyes. “Okay,” you murmur, “I’ll shut up if you shut up.”

He laughs, leaning toward you and moving his hand to your cheek, cupping your face. “Deal.” he says quietly, and leans in to kiss you softly.

You hum against his lips, bringing your hand up to tangle in his hair, still damp with sweat. You don’t care, loving the feeling of his mouth against yours. You honestly have no idea what you did without it.

“I hope that’s okay.” He whispers when you both pull back, pressing his forehead against yours, his sweat mixing with the rain all over your face.

“What is?”

“Me kissing you.”

“I kissed you first, if you recall.” You say with a smile, and he smiles back.

“Maybe you were just being nice.” He teases, “That’s the kind of person you are, after all.”

You pull back a bit more, raising an eyebrow, “The kind of person who kisses people for no reason?”

He shakes his head and pulls you back toward him with his other hand, squeezing your arm. “Nice.” He says, tracing your lips with his thumb, “You’re a nice person.”

Before you can respond, he’s kissing you again, and it’s heaven. You can feel the ache between your legs again and for once you don’t feel guilty about it, placing both hands firmly against his chest and pushing him back against the pillows. You have an incredibly strong urge to climb on top of him, straddle his lap and grind against him. But you know that this isn’t the time. He really needs to rest.

You pull away and push his hair back like you had earlier, peering down at him fondly. “You need to sleep.”

“And what if I just want to keep kissing you?”

Your heart flutters at his words, but you hold it together, pulling the blankets back over him. “Too bad.” You say with a grin, and stand up. “I’m not working tomorrow, you know. I’ll be here all day. Lots of time to kiss me.”

He smiles, lidded eyes opening and closing slowly; he really is exhausted. “I’m gonna hold you to that, you know.”

“You better.” You say softly, reaching down to touch his hand. “Goodnight, John.”

He squeezes your fingers, closing his eyes. “Goodnight.”

You watch him for a few moments, not wanting to release his hand. He falls asleep almost immediately, and you feel a warmth in your chest that you can’t explain as you watch his face relax and that familiar innocence wash over him. A word crosses your mind, you’re not sure why, but the warmth spreads throughout your body when you repeat it to yourself:

_Mine_.

You finally leave the room, turning the light off and shutting the door. You lean against it, closing your eyes and breathing deeply, your thoughts hazy. The way you feel…you don’t know if you’ve ever felt like this before.

Fitz meows at your feet and you reach down to pet him gently, then you head to the bathroom to get out of your wet clothes. You catch sight of yourself in the mirror and watch yourself turn bright red. The yellow top you’re wearing is soaked, and the fact that you aren’t wearing a bra is  _very_  obvious, your nipples poking through the fabric and the outline of your breasts extremely apparent. You have no doubt that John had caught a glimpse, and the thought makes you shiver. You can’t help but hope he got a good look.

You strip down to just your underwear and grab your robe that’s hanging on the door, wrapping it around yourself. All your clothes are in your bedroom, but you don’t want to wake John up. Besides, you don’t mind sleeping in your robe. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, making eye contact with yourself and allowing a smile to spread across your face. You look different – you  _feel_  different.

The uncomfortable couch is suddenly very inviting as you slip back under the blanket and place your head against the cushion. The tiredness hits you suddenly, and you close your eyes. For the first time, you hope that you dream about John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please feel free to like/reblog this chapter on tumblr: [chapter 6](https://keanubot.tumblr.com/post/178121251185/catastrophe-reigns-john-wickreader-chapter-6)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** 5.2k
> 
> **warnings:** this one finally gets a bit nsfw ;)

You manage to get a pretty decent sleep, probably because you forgot to set an alarm for yourself. You don’t have work so it doesn’t really matter though, and when you open your eyes to sunlight pouring into your living room, you find yourself feeling surprisingly refreshed. You blink a few times, your mind coming back to reality. You’d been pretty caught up in the dream you were having; a John dream, of course, where mere seconds earlier you’d been sitting atop the kitchen counter with John buried deep inside you.  _What a way to wake up._

Sitting up slowly, you pull the blanket off and rub your eyes, wondering what time it is. Before you can check, you freeze, noticing something pretty out of the ordinary; something is  _cooking_. You sniff the air and immediately recognize bacon, your ears suddenly detecting the sound of oil sizzling in a pan. Before you know it, you’re standing, eyebrows furrowed as you listen to the sounds of movement in the kitchen; a fork clinking against a plate, the tap being turned on, the bacon continuing to sizzle. You slowly begin to walk to the kitchen, peering around the corner and spotting John standing there with his back to you.

You watch him for a few moments, a smile on your face as you watch him carefully transfer the bacon from the pan to a plate. He’s wearing his pants and dress shirt, but his jacket, vest, and tie are still sitting on one of the kitchen chairs. You love how…normal he looks, yet abnormal. It’s not every day you have a gorgeous man standing in your kitchen making you breakfast. In fact, you’re pretty sure it’s never happened.

He turns around, plate of bacon in hand. He spots you immediately and stills, eyes meeting yours.

“Good morning,” you say, smile widening. “You look better.”

He smiles back, placing the bacon on the kitchen table where you notice a stack of pancakes waiting for you. “I  _feel_  better,” he replies, and pulls out a chair, “Come sit down, I made you breakfast.”

“I can see that.” You come out from around the corner and notice his eyes trailing down your body, assessing your robe. Unconsciously your hands come up to tighten it, suddenly very aware of how small it is. “How long have you been up?”

“About two hours, I didn’t wanna wake you. I thought you deserved a late sleep.” He grins as you sit down, watching you admire the food. “And a good breakfast.” 

“Jesus, how much did you make?” Not only has John made bacon and pancakes; he’s also somehow managed to find some fresh fruit and yogurt, not to mention the scrambled eggs sitting in another pan on the stove. “Can we eat this much?”

He laughs, placing the bacon in front of you, “I guess we’ll have to find out.” He walks back to the stove, stirring the eggs a bit. “Sorry, I kind of raided your fridge.”

“I’m surprised half this stuff was even in there.” You grab a piece of bacon and bring it to your lips, letting out a low moan at the taste; you haven’t cooked anything in a long time.

John returns to the table with the eggs, placing them on the table and sitting down, “A lot of it was in the freezer. Saving it for a later date, I guess?” he winks and you laugh.

“Yeah, well, I don’t really have much time or patience to cook.” You pour some orange juice into your glass. “Also, I kinda suck at it.”

“Nice to know you’re not perfect.” he says, and you playfully slap his hand.

You hear a quiet meow and spot Fitz underneath the table, tail swishing back and forth as he waits for something to drop. “Good morning, baby.” You say softly, reaching down to scratch behind his ears. “Are you hungry?”

“He shouldn’t be, I fed him.” John says, and you turn to look at him in bewilderment.

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

You look over at Fitz’s bowl and spot some leftover food in it, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t have to do that.”

John chuckles, grabbing a bit of everything from the table and putting it on his plate, “It’s no big deal, I do it every day with my dog.”

You stop cutting a pancake to look at him again, eyes widening slightly. “You have a dog?”

He smiles at you, soft and beautiful. “Yeah, a pitbull.”

Well, you certainly hadn’t known that. It’s strange; you feel incredibly close to John, like you already know everything there is to know. However, the reality is you both know practically nothing about each other, aside from the basics. You suddenly realize that you don’t even know his last name.

“What’s your name?” you blurt out, and he stares at you as he chews his eggs.

“…John.” He looks confused, and you laugh a little breathlessly.

“Sorry, I mean… what’s your last name?”

He swallows, then exhales, as if he doesn’t want to answer. You bite your lip, watching him. “I mean…I guess I just personally find it a little… unusual, by my standards anyway, that we’ve kissed and I don’t know your last name.” you shrug, taking a bite of your pancake, hoping he doesn’t notice how you get goosebumps at the mention of those kisses last night.

“No, you’re right,” he replies, reaching over to touch your hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t usually…I’m not a very open person.” He’s looking at you with sincerity, eyes soft. “But I don’t want to be like that with you, I don’t think I need to.”

“You don’t,” your eyes fall to your hands, loving how big his is compared to yours. “You can tell me anything.” You look back up at him and smile. “I can handle it, believe me.”

He smiles, reaching forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Well, the first thing I should tell you, is that you look absolutely beautiful right now.”

You feel yourself blushing, unable to stop a grin from spreading on your face. “Don’t change the subject.”

Laughing, he sits back and starts eating again, his hand still covering yours, “My last name is Wick.”

Progress. You nod, letting the name sink in.  _John Wick_. “I like it.”

He chuckles and continues to eat, both of you sitting in silence for a few moments; comfortable and natural. You spot a small blood stain on his shirt, reminding you of why he’s here in the first place.

“How are your ribs?” you ask, pulling your hand out from underneath his to reach over and lightly brush your thumb against his collar bone, “Can I see?”

He looks at you, eyes searching yours. Then, he nods slowly and pulls out his chair, standing up and beginning to unbutton his shirt, “They feel a lot better.” He says, exposing his skin button by button.

You stand up as well, carefully pulling his shirt open to assess the injury. He’s still wearing the makeshift sling, and you tug the ice pack out, “I need to freeze this again,” you place it on the table and continue to scan the area, your hands coming up to lightly touch the dark bruise. He flinches at your cold fingers like he had last night, and you can’t help but smile, loving how soft his skin is under yours, “Sorry,” you say quietly, your hands reaching around to gently hold his hips.

You peer up at him and he’s looking at you, eyes soft. Without question, you lean up and press a soft kiss to his lips, feeling his arms come up to wrap around your waist. He tastes like orange juice, and you feel yourself smile against his mouth.

“I hope I’m the only patient getting this kind of treatment,” he says with a sly smile as you pull away, and you laugh.

“I can guarantee that you are.” You look back down at the bruise, biting your lip. “Are you in pain?”

He shakes his head, “Nowhere near as much as I was in last night,” his arms are still around your waist, and he pulls you closer to him, “I realized I never thanked you, for doing what you did.”

“And what did I do?” you’re still playing dumb, and he leans down to put his forehead against yours.

“Took that stuff from the hospital.” He sighs, brow furrowing. “I don’t want you to do anything like that for me again, okay?”

“It’s funny how you think you can stop me,” you say it with a smile but he’s very serious, eyes suddenly burning into yours.

“I mean it, Y/N. You’re not losing your medical license because of me.”

You stare at him, your nose brushing his lightly, “How’s your leg?”

He sighs, letting his arms drop from your waist as he sits back down in his chair, buttoning his shirt once again, “It’s doing well, I checked it this morning and took some more antibiotics.” There’s a bit of an edge to his voice and you can tell he’s frustrated with your lack of reply.

You bite your lip, sitting back down and inching your chair over so you’re closer to him, your hand coming up to push his hair out of his eyes as he looks downcast at his breakfast, “Look,” you sigh, combing your fingers through the soft strands, “I had no choice last night. It was a one time thing and I honestly have no plans on doing it again,” you hesitate, tilting your head to the side, “Unless of course, you show up with like…a sword in your spine or something.”

He snorts, turning to look at you with half a smile. “Doubtful.”

“True, you’re more of a guns and knives sorta guy.” You card your fingers through his hair, your expression softening. “Or at least whoever keeps hurting you is.”

At your words, he loses eye contact and starts eating again, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. You figure right now isn’t the best time to prod him for information, but  _god_ , you still have so many unanswered questions and it’s driving you insane. You return to your breakfast but don’t bother moving your chair back over, loving being as close to him as possible. There’s an indescribable energy that surrounds John, an aura that makes you feel warm and safe. You hope he senses the same energy from you.

After you’ve finished eating you attempt to wash the dishes but John insists on doing it himself, practically shoving you out of the kitchen, dish towel in hand, “It’s the least I can do, seriously. Just let me.” It’s hard to say no.

While John busies himself in the kitchen, you head to the bathroom to take a shower. You undress in front of the mirror again and somehow find pleasure in it for the second time in a row, which is certainly unusual for you. You suppose it’s got something to do with that energy surrounding John, which you can’t deny carries a heavy sexuality that leaves you breathless, not to mention the major confidence boost last night had given you.

After your shower, you emerge from the bathroom wrapped in only a towel, secretly hoping that John will catch a glimpse before you make it to your bedroom. It’s your lucky day apparently, because he’s already finished doing the dishes and is now seated on the couch in the living room, where he has a clear view of you as you walk by.

“Do you need to shower or anything?” you ask; an excuse to stand in front of him a little longer.

His eyes pan up and down your body, quicker than you would’ve liked, but you suppose he’s trying to be a gentleman. You feel yourself blush when he makes eye contact with you, and you suddenly feel incredibly exposed, questioning whether this was such a good idea. His mouth opens, but he closes it again, his eyes trailing back down to your legs, peppered with water. “I’m sorry, what?” he breathes, looking back into your eyes again.

_Oh yeah, definitely a good idea._

You laugh, trying not to let your glee show too much, “A shower, do you need one?”

He shakes his head, seemingly both in response to your question and to also snap himself out of whatever thoughts he’s having, which makes you blush even more. “No, that’s okay, I’ll take one when I go home.”

_Home._

For some reason, the idea of John having his own home hadn’t really crossed your mind. You’d pictured him more as a hotel kinda guy, living from place to place, not really staying anywhere for too long. Now that you think of it, you probably came up with that idea from the hitman theory. You remember what John had said at breakfast about having a dog; you wonder if he’s at home waiting for his owner to return, or if someone else is there to watch him…

Time seems to suddenly slow down as you turn the knob to your bedroom, turning to look at John one more time as your thought trails off. He’s exhaling and running a hand through his hair; your eyes lock onto his hand, onto his ring finger, onto the ring.

_Oh._

You make it into your bedroom before the heavy breathing starts, thankfully. As soon as the door shuts, you feel yourself fall to the floor, barely able to register anything other than your lungs doing their best to keep up with you.

Why had it taken you so long to put two and two together? Are you  _that_  oblivious? You’d seen the ring, acknowledged it, and then just moved on and forgotten about it. It hadn’t even crossed your mind that it could be a wedding ring, despite it literally being on his ring finger. As you sit on the floor, head between your knees, your role in John’s life slowly begins to make sense. No hospitals? Of course. Hospitals mean medical bills. Clearly, he doesn’t want his wife to know about his extracurricular activities. He must have felt quite lucky when he’d stumbled upon you.

You feel sick, tears flowing down your cheeks. You pull your head up and it bangs against the door, a noise of pain leaving your mouth as you reach up to rub your scalp.

“You okay?” you hear from the other side.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your shaky voice. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You wonder if he can hear the malice.

After slowly bringing yourself to stand, you walk towards your dresser and pull out some clothes, mind reeling. Something on your night stand catches your eye and you realize that the syringes and vials of anesthetic are still there, the sight of them practically a punch in the gut. You’d done that for him, you’d really broken the law and risked your entire career  _for him_. Your stomach is churning, the urge to vomit getting higher and higher by the second.

You fumble to get dressed, your hands shaking violently and the tears failing to stop. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and just like that, all your confidence has melted away - you look absolutely pitiful, and you can’t even bring yourself to feel sorry for yourself.

The smell of John is everywhere and you feel like you’re going to suffocate, your eyes continuing to glance at the bed; neat and tidy, like he’d never even slept in it. You grab the medical supplies from the dresser, rage boiling in the pit of your stomach as you head back to the door and somehow manage to open it despite your hands being full. You walk past the living room, ignoring John completely and throwing everything onto the kitchen table – now clean – with enough force to make a sound but not break anything.

“Get out.” You say, firm and serious.

You hear him come into the kitchen, “What?”

“Get out.” You repeat, and spin around to look at him, his eyes widening when he sees the tears streaming down your face. “I don’t want you here.”

He reaches out to touch your face, his thumb wiping away some of your tears, “Did I do something?”

You flinch away from his touch, backing up a few steps and gesturing towards the table, “Just take the shit and go, okay? And don’t come back.” He stands there for a moment, just staring at you with an incredibly confused expression on his face. Exasperated, you cross your arms and exhale shakily, “John, please. Don’t make me say it, please.”

You watch as he takes a step forward, his gaze not leaving your face, “Y/N, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Your voice is weak, and you can’t bring yourself to look into his eyes, your heart breaking the longer he stands there looking at you. “John, please,” it’s barely a whisper, “Don’t do this to me.”

He takes another step, and another, and before you know it he’s standing directly in front of you. He takes your face into his hands, and you have no choice but to look up at him, your eyes meeting. “What is it?” he breathes, his thumbs stroking your cheeks tenderly, “Tell me.”

You stare into his eyes, the words bubbling in your throat before coming out in a shaky whisper, “I’m so fucking stupid,” your lip quivers pitifully and you feel embarrassed for being so upset; you want to shout and be mad, but your emotions are getting the better of you.

“No you’re n-“

“You’re married.” The room goes silent the moment you say it, and John’s hands drop from your face like he’s been burned. “Yeah, thought so.” You turn around, pinning your hair back with your hand as you stare at the floor, the nausea still very present.

John says something, but his voice is quiet suddenly – too quiet, and you don’t know what he said. You turn your head toward him, “What?”

“I’m not,” he repeats, his eyes staring vacantly forward, seemingly at nothing in particular. “I’m not married.”

“Right.” You look away from him again, your hand holding the counter for support as you try not to let the world completely implode around you.

“I’m not.” His voice is still very quiet, quieter than you’ve ever heard it. You look at him again, and he’s still staring at nothing. Your brow furrows.

Finally, his gaze reconnects with yours, and he shakes his head slowly, “I was,” his hand comes up to brush a few strands of hair back from your face, “I was married, but I’m not anymore.”

It’s difficult to register what he’s saying when he’s looking at you like that, which really isn’t fair. You take a deep breath, turning away from him and hovering above the sink. You really do feel sick to your stomach and your head is spinning, unable to really comprehend anything at the moment, “I think I’m gonna throw up.” you say, voice crackly.

John helps you pull your hair back, and you feel too sick to resist him. Suddenly, it’s like everything you’ve gone through in the past two weeks is hitting you hard, like an oncoming train. You’re not sure if the marriage revelation is what triggered it, but you suddenly feel an incredible amount of fatigue and light-headedness, not to mention a sense of numbness.  _Shock_ , your medical brain diagnoses, _you’re in shock._

You stare down into the sink, head pounding. The idea of throwing up in front of John is almost too humiliating to even comprehend, and if what he’s just said is true, you definitely have a lot to be humiliated for right now. You’re incredibly aware of the way he’s pressed against you, his breath hitting the back of your neck as he holds your hair back.

“Nevermind,” you say after a few moments of silence, pulling your head up and inhaling deeply through your nose, “False alarm.”

John doesn’t step back from you, just brings his hands up to your shoulders and looks you dead in the eyes, “If I was married, I wouldn’t be here, I promise you that. You have to believe me.”

“The ring…” you say softly, side-eying it.

“It’s a habit,” he removes his hands from your shoulders and you watch as he removes the ring from his hand, holding it in front of you. “And a reminder of her, that’s all.”

You stare at it, a puzzled expression on your face. You’re not an idiot – even though you’ve been stating the contrary for the past ten minutes – and you know that it wouldn’t be logical for John to be wearing the ring of someone he’d simply gotten a divorce from.

“She’s…” you trail off, looking up at him again.

His eyes are sad, and your humiliation suddenly turns to guilt.

“She passed away, yes.”

You look down at the floor, shaking your head. You don’t know what to say, your mouth opening and closing with no words coming out. Still feeling pretty faint, you walk a few steps to the kitchen table and sit down, putting your chin in your hand and burning a hole into one of the vials of anesthetic with your eyes. John sits down next to you, watching as you process what he’s just told you.

“John, I’m…” you really don’t know what to say; the tears had stopped while you’d hovered over the sink, but now you can feel your eyes stinging once again. “I’m a piece of shit.”

“No,” he grabs your other hand, squeezing it tightly, “You’re the complete opposite.”

“I practically just threw a fit over your dead wife,” you don’t mean it to sound so blunt, but there’s not really any other way to put it, “I’m so… god, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” his thumb strokes the back of your hand comfortingly, “Hey, look at me.”

Hesitantly, you unlock your eyes from the anesthetic to look at him, and you’re incredibly surprised to see that he’s  _smiling_  at you, soft and gorgeous. Your hand drops from your chin so you can wipe your eyes, and he leans forward to press his hand to your face.

“You’re so beautiful.” he whispers, and you snort without humor, pulling back from him.

“Stop, I don’t need that,” you shake your head, sniffling. “Don’t try and make me feel better, please.”

“I’m not,” he murmurs, ignoring your resistance and placing his hand against the side of your face once more, warm and comforting. “I’m telling you what I’m thinking.”

You peer into his eyes, trying to decipher the mystery that lies in their depths. This man truly makes no fucking sense.

“I don’t get you.” you say quietly, sniffling again. “Remember when you said you couldn’t figure  _me_ out? That’s how I feel about you, but like, times a thousand.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I said I was going to try and be more open, and I meant that.”

“Yes, but… about what, exactly? Were you going to tell me about your wife?”

He sighs, pulling his hand away from your face but not letting go of your hand, “Yes,” he replies. “I was going to tell you about her. I thought you’d already figured it out, to be honest. I’ve worn my ring both times I’ve been here.”

“I know, I guess I just didn’t… really think about it. I had more important things to focus on, like stopping you from bleeding out.” he chuckles at that, and you can’t help but let a small smile appear on your face. “I probably wouldn’t have figured it out so soon if you hadn’t talked about going home earlier. I started thinking about your dog, and who was watching him.”

“On a regular day, he doesn’t need anyone to watch him, other than me. He’s pretty self sufficient.” he smiles, “Unless I’m gone for a few days, then I leave him with a colleague. That’s who he’s with right now.”

“A colleague.” you say, nodding slowly. “From your job that I still know nothing about.”

He cringes a bit, biting his lip, “Actually, that’s – uh – that’s what I thought you’d figured out.”

You raise an eyebrow, looking at him curiously, “You thought I’d figured out your job?”

He nods, “I don’t know how you would have, but with the way you reacted… I was ready for you to never speak to me again,” his expression suddenly becomes sad. “I’ve sort of been preparing myself for that moment.”

You stare at him blankly, unsure how to respond. If that reaction is what he’d been expecting in response to finding out what he did, whatever his job is must really be bad. But…you’ve considered the options, even mulled over a theory about how he could be a hitman. And none of those ideas had affected you at all, not in the way that the possibility of him being married had. It’s clear that John doesn’t fully understand you yet, just like you don’t understand him.

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” you say slowly, trying to articulate your thoughts properly. “I mean… I have an idea of what you do. Obviously nothing concrete, but there’s enough evidence to point to something pretty…dangerous.”

He swallows, and you reach forward to place a hand on his knee.

“John, I… I really do want you to tell me these things in your own time. It wasn’t right for me to get so upset, to make assumptions. I don’t know what came over me.”

He shakes his head, “No, you have every right to make assumptions. About my wife, about my job… I don’t expect you to just sit there and stay silent. I guess I just wanted a few more moments of  _this._ ” He squeezes your hand again to show you what he means, and you smile. “Before it gets complicated.”

You look down at your hands, feeling a strong sense of warmth inside of you as you admire how well they fit together, “And what is this, exactly?” you glance at him, biting your lip. “What are we?”

He smiles at you, “Well… considering that you’ve now saved my life multiple times, nursed me back to health, and participated in illegal activities on my behalf…” you laugh, and he leans forward to brush his nose against yours, “I think it’s safe to say that I like you quite a bit.” He glances at your lips, then meets your eyes again, “I’d like to be with you,” he murmurs, “If you’ll have me.”

You don’t say anything, you don’t need to. Instead, you bridge the gap between the two of you and kiss him hard, hoping the action in itself tells him everything he needs to know. He kisses you back, letting go of your hand so he can grab your hips and pull your chair closer to him. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your hands in his hair; you’re sure he’s noticed by now how much you love it.

His tongue slips inside your mouth and you feel your skin become hotter and hotter, his passion sending you to another place entirely. Before you know it, you’re out of your chair and sitting in his lap, legs dangling onto the floor as his hands grip your back and hold you in place. Unable to stop yourself, you grind down on him, and his response is  _certainly_ not what you’re expecting.

“Ow, fuck!” he groans, clearly in pain, and you immediately jump off of him.

“Shit, your ribs?” you ask, covering your mouth with your hands, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot.”

He shakes his head, laughing breathlessly, “We both need to stop apologizing so much,” he rubs his thigh gently, like he’s soothing it, “Not my ribs, my leg. It’s okay, I forgot too.”

You push some of your hair behind your ear, trying to ignore the throbbing sensation that’s currently going on in your underwear. This really isn’t the time to think such things, but you’re suddenly wondering when the fuck you’re ever gonna get laid.

“I wasn’t thinking.” you say, looking sheepish, “Did I hurt you?”

He chuckles, shaking his head and looking up at you. His face is red and he’s a bit out of breath after kissing you for so long; you can’t help but glance down at his crotch for a moment, trying not to smile too big when you see the outline of his bulge straining against his pants.

“I saw that,” he says with a sly smile, standing up and pushing the chair in.

“You didn’t see anything,” you reply with a wink.

“Just like I didn’t see anything when you got out of the shower earlier?”

You freeze, the throbbing between your legs refusing to go away as he walks toward you and places his hand on your lower back, leaning in to press his mouth against your ear.

“When you were in that towel,” he whispers, breath hot against your skin, “All wet.”

You shiver, and your hand instinctually travels down his body, all the way from his chest to his groin. You cup the shape of his cock through his pants and he inhales sharply.

_Fuck, he’s big._

He pulls away to look at you, his eyes dark and smoldering. You lick your lips in anticipation, ready for him to kiss you again. He starts to lean in, and you slowly start to stroke him through the material, your mouth opening as you wait for his lips to touch yours.

And then your phone is ringing.

You jump apart, startled. Both of you turn to look at the kitchen table where your phone is buzzing, and you know that you’re both thinking the same thing. If you had literally any other career, not answering the phone really wouldn’t matter that much. But you’re a nurse, and when you’re on-call, you don’t really have much of a choice.

You sigh, walking over to the table and picking it up, throwing John an apologetic glance. You can’t hide your smile as he leans against the counter and takes a few deep breaths, clearly overwhelmed by what had just happened.

“Hello?” you say, smiling even wider when John catches you looking and winks at you.

“Am I speaking with Y/N?”

“Yes, this is she.” you feel lightheaded, but in a completely different way than you had before – your body is tingling with happiness and arousal.

“This is Janet Brookes, Director of Nursing at Brooklyn General.”

Your smile instantly disappears, your heart practically dropping out of your ass as you stand straight, eyes widening. “Oh.” You don’t really know what else to say.

“Something has been brought to me this morning in regards to some of your recent activity, and I need to see you immediately. It’s very urgent.”

You blink a few times, trying to keep your breathing even. “Y-yes, okay.”

“Can you be in by twelve?”

“Yes.” It’s barely a whisper.

“Thank you.”

The phone goes dead but you stand there for a few seconds anyway, listening to the silence and staring ahead. Slowly, your arm drops and you place your phone on the table.

“Who was that?” John asks, but you can barely hear him over the pounding in your ears.

Shakily, you turn and look at him, swallowing and feeling tears prick in your eyes.

“They know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please feel free to like/reblog this chapter on tumblr: [chapter 7](https://keanubot.tumblr.com/post/178265618885/catastrophe-reigns-john-wickreader-chapter-7)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** 5.7k
> 
> **warnings:** NSFW!!!!!! FINALLY!!!! thank you for being so patient, i hope you guys enjoy this.

John sits on your bed while you freshen up, watching as you try to make yourself look as presentable and law-abiding as possible. But makeup isn’t going to cover up anything; they know, and you’re more than likely walking into a lion’s den. You pace back and forth in front of him as you blow-dry your hair, talking a mile a minute.

“Do I deny it? Do I play dumb? I have no fucking idea how they found out but I’m sure they have some valid form of evidence and if I lie, I’m dead. Not that I’m not already dead, because the fact that my presence is being requested in the first place pretty much confirms that I’m dead,” you don’t even know if he can hear you over the hairdryer, but then again, you’re not really sure if you’re talking to him or to yourself, “Four years of college, three years of nursing school, almost two years of working in the field,  _nine years_  wasted. Just like that, down the drain.”

You feel something grab your leg and you stop pacing, looking down to see John gripping your calf. Your eyes meet and he’s looking at you earnestly.

“That’s not gonna happen.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, then pull your leg away and start pacing again, turning your hairdryer off and standing in front of your mirror, “I’m fucked.”

“You’re not fucked. I’m gonna fix this.”

You roll your eyes, quickly brushing your hair and mentally chastising yourself for using so much fucking eyeshadow, “I appreciate that John, I do. But there’s nothing anyone can do,” you sigh, putting the brush back down and turning to look at him, “This is my hill to climb alone.”

He stands, shaking his head, “You’re not going alone, I’m coming with you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you put your hands on his shoulders, carefully pushing him back down on the bed, “You can’t come into the meeting with me, they’ll kick you out.”

“I can wait outside, moral support and all that.” he offers, and you shake your head.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you open your nightstand to grab some perfume and you yelp when you see two guns sitting inside, “Jesus Christ, warn me next time.”

“Fuck, sorry. They’re not loaded.” he can tell you’re on edge and slightly nervous to reach your hand into a drawer containing guns – loaded or not. He quickly leans over to help, “What do you need?”

“Perfume, it’s in the back somewhere.”

He reaches in and when he pulls his hand back out, what he’s holding makes you yelp even louder than you had when you’d seen the guns: _your vibrator._

“Well…that’s not perfume.” He says, slowly rotating the small egg-shaped device in his hand.

“Put it back, please.” You reply, covering your face in embarrassment, and he just laughs and does as he’s told, reaching his hand back in and pulling out your perfume. He gives it to you, and you bring your hand down from your mouth to take it, cringing when you catch him smiling to himself, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Just…don’t.” you turn away from him, glad your makeup is hiding the fact that your skin is on fire.

“Y/N, everything will be fine. You don’t know what they want, it could be some sort of… random performance review or something.”

You shake your head, spraying the perfume on your wrists and rubbing them together, “Chances are, I’m gonna walk in that room and see two police officers waiting with handcuffs,” you lightly touch your wrists to your temples, transferring the scent, “It’s okay, John. I mean, obviously it’s not okay, but I’ll be fine. I dug my own grave with this one.”

He stands again, walking over to you and wrapping his arms around you from behind. You watch in the mirror as his left hand stills on your stomach and his right one lightly trails up and down your hip. His eyes meet yours in the reflection.

“It  _will_  be okay,” he says softly, and you love how much he towers over you, so tall he can kiss the top of your head with ease, which he does, “No matter what they want, nothing’s gonna happen to you. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that.” you whisper, leaning back into his touch and watching as his arms fully wrap around you to engulf you in a hug. Your head lolls back against his shoulder, temple grazing his scruff.

“I can, and I am.” He murmurs, nose brushing your hair as he breathes you in, “Mmm….you smell good.”

He seems so….blasé about the situation – casual, like there really is nothing to worry about. You have to admit, it makes you feel a little better, like maybe everything will actually turn out okay _. But what are you saying?_  You’ve never been called in to see the director of nursing, and with it happening today of all days, the day after you’d robbed the hospital? Yeah, you’re definitely fucked.

“I’m not getting to know you through a piece of glass and a jail phone,” he suddenly says, and he turns you around in his arms, hands trailing up your back and pulling you closer, “I promise that nothing will happen to you.” he really means it, eyes piercing yours with intense sincerity, “You have my word.”

There’s something he’s trying to tell you, through his eyes. You haven’t really been able to focus on anything because you’ve been so stressed, rushing to get ready. But now that you’re finally paying attention, there’s something there that he wants you to see, to read.  _He’s going to protect you, no matter what._ It makes you shiver.

And you believe him.

—–

You let John come with you but you tell him to wait outside the hospital, which he seems fine with doing. He tells you he’ll be sitting just outside the main doors, and if you need him, you can text him. He puts his number in your phone, and watches you go into the building, the situation beginning to feel much more real the further you walk away from him.

Being in the hospital feels strange, like a new experience. Even though you walk these halls constantly, something feels incredibly different after last night, and you suddenly realize it’s because this may be the last time you’ll actually walk them. You swallow, feeling tears prick in your eyes.

You take the elevator like everyone else, going a level above where you’d stopped last night. The walk down the corridor is slow, your hands shaking and your stomach turning as you reach the door to Janet Brookes’ office. You focus on how John’s lips had felt on yours when he’d kissed you before you’d entered the hospital, pulling back to whisper that everything would be okay. Taking a deep breath, you bring your hand up and knock on the door.

It opens immediately, as if she’d been standing on the other side waiting for you. You vaguely recognize her; that  _Can I speak to the manager_? haircut still isn’t doing much for her, “Y/N?”

“Yes.”

She nods and ushers you inside, shutting the door behind you. She gestures for you sit down in the chair in front of her desk and you do so, watching as she settles into her own chair and seems to take a steadying breath. She looks at you, adjusting her glasses and squinting as if she’s trying to see you properly. You fidget with your hands in your lap, palms sweaty.

“I assume you know why you’re here.”

You look up, mind still filtering through your options. Play dumb or confess?

“Uh…” you still haven’t decided.

“Because I honestly have no idea,” she continues, and your brow furrows, “I was contacted by the Director of Hospital Security and told to schedule an urgent meeting with you.” she scoffs, shaking her head, “And of course, I’m wasting my time because he’s later than you are.”

_Director of Hospital Security._

Of course. How had you been so stupid? There are security cameras outside the hospital and in the corridors; you’ve barely ever paid any mind to them, practically forgetting they even existed. Clearly someone had seen you stealing – whether during or afterwards, it didn’t matter. But Janet Brookes hasn’t been informed of it yet, which still leaves you with the higher ground, though not by much.

“Oh, am I late?” you take out your phone, pretending to check the time. You quickly text John, heart beating fast:

**_she doesn’t know. director of security does. waiting for him now._ **

“Yes, by five minutes.” she’s annoyed, clearly wanting to get back to work.

You put your phone back into the pocket of your jacket, sitting up a bit straighter, “Did he mention anything at all? About…why you had to schedule the meeting?”

She sighs, leaning back in her chair, “He said it involved something in regards to some ‘recent activity’ on your behalf, which is what I already told you on the phone earlier, if I recall.”

God, she’s rude. But you’re obviously not going to point that out. Instead, you remain pleasant, hoping she doesn’t notice how utterly terrified you are, “Right,” you say with a smile, “You did.”

Your phone vibrates and you take it out, looking down at it. A text from John:

**_Name of Director of Security?_ **

_Why is he asking that?_  You don’t have time to question it, clearing your throat and looking back up at Janet, who’s staring defiantly at the closed door, “What’s his name, the Director of Hospital Security?”

“Harry something or other,” she waves her hand, “I don’t know, Jones or something.”

“Harry Jones?”

She huffs, lips puckering into a sour expression, “Jones, Johnson, I don’t know. How am I supposed to remember? I’m a very busy woman, I don’t have time for this.”

You nod, internally screaming obscenities as you discreetly reply to John’s text:

**_harry jones or harry johnson. something with a j_ **

You’re not sure why John wants to know but you have a feeling in the pit of your stomach that won’t go away, a feeling that’s growing stronger by the second. But you push it away, trying not to think about it as you stare at the dark screen of your phone.

“So, do you know?” Janet asks, and you look up.

“Know what?”

She groans, getting up and walking to the door to stand there and cross her arms; she must have done the same thing while waiting for you, “Why you’re here. Do you know why we’re having this meeting?”

Keeping your expression calm, you slowly shake your head, “No, sorry. No idea.”

—–

After sitting there for twenty minutes, watching as Janet paces around the room with that sour expression never leaving her face, twisting your hands in your lap and waiting for John to text you back – she finally sits down, letting out a frustrated laugh.

“Well, I’m not waiting any longer. If it was as urgent as he said, he would have been here on time, and that’s that.” she gestures toward the door, “You’re free to go, the meeting obviously won’t be going ahead.”

You nod, standing up a little too quickly and backing away from the desk, “Sorry to waste your time.”

“Not your fault, dear.” she replies with a wave of her hand, turning to her computer and shaking her mouse a little too aggressively, “Oh lord, what’s going on now?”

You can see the computer monitor from where you’re standing; it’s bright blue, an error screen of some sort.

“System must be down again,” she tuts, rolling her eyes, “I swear, technology will be our downfall.”

Still backing up, you grab the door knob and turn it, throwing Janet one more fake smile, “Bye.”

“Goodbye, dear.”

You almost sink to the floor when you’re back in the corridor, heart pumping furiously as relief washes over you. But it doesn’t last for long, your thoughts turning to John as you speed walk to the elevator and make it inside before the doors close.

“Hey,” you hear to your left, and you turn to see your friend Ruby standing there smiling at you, “I didn’t think you had a shift today.”

Trying to act normal, you smile back, but you’re not sure it’s convincing, “I don’t, just had a meeting thing I had to go to. I’m going home now.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Meeting thing? About what?”

You shrug, “Random performance review.” John’s words from earlier are the first thing to come into your mind, as ridiculous as they sound.

She can see right through you, and you know it. You don’t work with someone for two years straight and not learn each other’s mannerisms. Ruby may be more of a work friend than anything else – you tend to keep people at arm’s length, your introversion getting in the way – but she’s worked with you long enough to tell when something is wrong.

“You good?” she asks, eyeing you up and down, “Is something up?”

You shake your head, keeping the fake smile plastered on your face, “I’m fine,” the elevator doors open and you step out into the hallway, turning to her and flashing her a thumb’s up, “I’ll see you later.”

You practically run to the main doors, the anticipation of seeing John and getting the hell away from here almost too much to contain. But the bench he’d been sitting on is empty, and your eyes frantically search the front entrance for any sign of him; he’s nowhere to be found. You pull out your phone, that feeling you’d had in Janet Brookes’ office creeping up on you again:

**_i’m outside where are you?_ **

Not wanting to just stand there, you sit down on the bench and cross your legs, ignoring how much you’re unconsciously moving them back and forth. As soon as your phone vibrates you almost drop it pressing the unlock button:

**_Go home. Taxi is waiting._ **

You stare at the text, bewildered. It’s so…formal, no explanation at all. You bring your gaze up to the hospital entrance and spot a yellow taxi a little ways away. You type out another text, shaking your head in confusion:

**_what are you doing? i wanna wait for you._ **

He responds almost immediately, like he’d been expecting you to protest; well, he certainly knows how stubborn you are by now:

**_I won’t be long, wait for me at your apartment. Don’t worry._ **

Him saying don’t worry just makes you worry even more, and you quietly curse as you lock your phone and stand up. You walk quickly to the cab and climb inside, unsurprised when the cab driver already knows the destination; John’s come up with a plan, apparently – in less than half an hour. As the hospital gets further and further away, your anxiety only increases, and your hands are still shaking even as it disappears from view.

—–

Fitz is waiting for you when you arrive back at your apartment, sitting at your feet and demanding attention. You pick him up and pet him absentmindedly, your mind reeling with thoughts of what John could possibly be doing and why he didn’t come home with you. He’d promised that no matter what, everything would be okay, but how can he actually keep that promise? He’d seemed so certain…

You scratch underneath Fitz’s chin as you pace the floors of your small apartment, biting your lip and losing yourself in your thoughts. Why had he wanted the name of the Director of Security? In what way was that relevant to him? You’d only told him what was going on to keep him updated, you hadn’t expected him to ask for details. Yet you’d gone out of your way to ask Janet Brookes what his name was, even prying about the specifics of his last name.

“I mean, what’s he gonna do, try and convince Harry what’s-his-name to delete the footage?” you ask Fitz, as if you’ve been talking this whole time, “Good luck with that.”

Fitz looks up at you curiously with his big green eyes, blinking slowly as if he’s listening to you. You’ve always found comfort in talking about your problems to him, but right now you wish more than ever that he could actually respond with some sort of advice. You’ve never had to deal with something this complicated before.

“What do you think, buddy? Am I losing my marbles?”

In response to your question, Fitz jumps out of your arms and retreats to the kitchen to use his litter box, leaving you standing there with a twisted smile on your face, “Very helpful, thanks.” You sigh and go into your bedroom, temporarily distracted by the way the smell of your perfume mixes with the smell of John; it’s intoxicating.

You sit on your bed and take off your jewelry, still thinking. As you unlatch your necklace, your eyes stray toward your night stand, and you freeze.

That feeling you’d had in Janet Brookes’ office? It’s suddenly consuming you.

Holding your breath, you slowly reach over and pull open the drawer, swallowing hard as you peer inside and your suspicions are confirmed:

The guns are gone.

—–

Your anxiety is through the roof as you wait for John to return, unable to stop pacing back and forth as you bite your nails and check your phone every two minutes. You’ve sent him five texts in the past hour and he hasn’t responded to any of them:

**_hey don’t do anything stupid please_ **

**_i mean it seriously please don’t_ **

**_it’d be awesome if you could text me back_ **

**_john_ **

**_i’m really worried about you_ **

It’s almost 2pm and you haven’t heard a word from him. What you hate the most is you truly have no idea what he’s doing; yes, you’ve had your guesses and theories about his job, but none of your ideas have prepared you for a moment like this. In all of your scenarios, you’d imagined John as someone  _hired_  to carry out tasks, not someone who simply carries them out without cause.

_He has cause though_ , your brain argues,  _that Harry guy has proof that you stole that shit._

“Yeah but he doesn’t have to kill anybody over it!” you say loudly, and Fitz jumps about a foot in the air, hopping off the couch and running into your bedroom for some peace and quiet.

_He’s not killing anyone, chill out._

You flop onto the couch, your head practically hurting from how much you’re overthinking. The bottom line, the common theme in all your thoughts – is John’s wellbeing. All you want to know is if he’s okay, if he’s been injured or arrested or if he’s perfectly fine and not even engaging in half the things you’re imagining him doing. You just want him to be safe.

As if brought to fruition by your thoughts, you suddenly hear a knock at the door. You fling yourself off the couch, running to the front door and pulling it open. John stands on the other side, and you quickly assess him as you’d done yesterday; however, this time you don’t notice any new injuries, and he seems alright. You rush forward and collide into him, momentarily forgetting his injured ribs like you had earlier.

If you hurt him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he just hugs you back, smiling into your hair. When you pull back, you can’t help but lightly slap his good arm – the one without the healing stab wounds – and he responds with a playful, “Hey!”

“Where were you?!” you ask, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside. He shuts the door behind him and watches as you walk to the kitchen table and sit down, finally able to feel relief for the first time in the past hour, “Seriously, John, you could’ve texted me back.”

“I’m sorry, really.” he walks over to you and pulls a chair out, placing it directly in front of you. He sits down and reaches out to place his hands on your knees, leaning his face toward yours, “I had to turn my phone off after I told you to go home and wait for me, I couldn’t have any distractions.”

You nod, not making eye contact with him, “Listen…I know that we barely know each other, okay? And I know that you don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you everyth-“

“Shut up.” You close your eyes, laughing to yourself and shaking your head. You bring your eyes up to meet his, unable to stop your smile, “God, sorry, I really have to stop telling you to shut up.”

He smiles wide, eyes sparkling, “Don’t apologize, I like it.”

You look at him, slightly awestruck by his response, then blink slowly and lick your lips, trying to think of how to word what you want to say, “Anyway, I know all this, so I really don’t have any right to  _tell_  you to do certain things. But…okay, if this is gonna work – if  _we’re_  gonna work – I need you to at least let me know what you’re doing before you do it. I can’t be here wondering where you are and what’s going on,” you take both his hands in yours, peering into his eyes earnestly, “You don’t have to give me all the details yet, okay? I just want…something. Something that’s not just ‘don’t worry’, you get me? ‘Cause if I have no information whatsoever, I’m gonna worry.”

He nods slowly, clearly taking in your words. “I get that.”

“You do?”

He smiles softly, reaching up to touch your face, “I do. And I’m sorry, I really am. I’m not…” he trails off, searching for the words, “I’m not good at this whole communicating thing. I never have been, it’s a fault of mine that I’ve needed to adjust for a while.” He licks his lips, and it distracts you immensely. “I guess I’ve gotten used to doing things alone… I’d kind of accepted and made peace with it. Meeting you… it’s kind of thrown things off.” He puts his other hand up as if to halt you from interrupting, “In a good way, of course; an amazing way. I never expected… when I collapsed outside your apartment, I never even dreamed…” he doesn’t finish, just shakes his head in amazement.

You can feel warmth everywhere, spreading through your body the longer he speaks, and he takes your hands and squeezes them in his. You look down at them, the familiar safety of his touch overpowering everything.

“So…” you say softly, your eyes meeting his once more, “If you can sum up what you were doing in, say, one sentence. What would you say?”

He takes a few seconds, then says, quite firmly, “I took care of it.”

“You took care of it,” you repeat, nodding. “Anything – uh – else to add?”

He licks his lips again, and you feel a twinge between your legs that you  _know_  you’re going to have to take care of soon. God knows you’ve waited long enough.

“The footage of you in the hospital last night has been destroyed,” he says, and your eyes widen, “And the parties involved won’t be giving you any trouble,” he smiles then, cupping your face in his hands, “I promised nothing would happen to you.”

He leans in then and presses a firm kiss to your lips – solid and safe. Your hands come up to touch his back, fingers digging gently into his broad shoulders as you lose yourself in the way his mouth feels against yours. He slowly pulls away to look at you, his eyes suddenly dark – burning with the intensity they’d had this morning before you’d gotten that phone call.

You know where this is going, and you definitely want it to go there, but there’s something else you need to ask before you do.

“Just…one more question,” you breathe, your mouths inches apart, “And then I’m yours.”

You feel him shiver, and you can’t help but smile, proud that you’ve managed to have the same effect on him that he has on you, “Yes?”

“When you say you took care of it…” you pull yourself towards him, his nose flush against your cheek, “God, I don’t even – uh – know how to word this…”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” he whispers, his hands dropping from your face to grip your back, somehow bringing you even closer, “If that’s what you mean.”

“Good enough,” you say breathlessly, and your mouth is on his again.

You immediately want to climb into his lap like you had earlier, but you know with his leg in the condition that it’s in, that’s not a good idea. As if he can sense your uncertainty, he breaks the kiss to pull back slightly and gently pat his right leg, the one without the bullet hole, “Come here,” he says softly, using his other hand to gently tug at your waist.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” you breathe, kissing him again and tracing your tongue against his lips.

He pulls back, shaking his head slightly, “You won’t. Here, let me.” He puts his other hand on your hip and pulls you forward, opening his legs and lifting you so your right leg is between them. Seconds later he has you flush against him, practically glued to his good thigh as he runs his hands up your back and kisses you hard, “You won’t hurt me now,” he whispers against your lips.

He’s basically telling you that he wants you to grind against his thigh, and the very idea already has you soaking wet as you start to rub yourself against him, moaning into his mouth as you tangle your fingers in his hair. He feels so firm beneath you, your thigh brushing against his bulge every time you rock. You grip his jacket and tug it off his shoulders, throwing it to the floor and instantly beginning to unbutton his shirt.

He laughs breathlessly, “Clothes off? You’re sure?”

You look at him incredulously, hands still working on the buttons as you continue to hump his thigh, breathless whimpers leaving your mouth with every move of your hips, “Y-Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

He brings his hands down from your back to grip your waist, helping you move against him. You pause your unbuttoning to grip his shoulders and press your forehead into his neck, focusing on the way his clothed thigh feels through your pants. In truth, it’s nowhere near enough, and you shiver when you feel his fingers at your waistband as he starts to pull them down.

“I haven’t showered today.” he whispers in your ear, and that shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but you absolutely love how he smells right now; real and musky and  _manly._

“I don’t care,” you moan, lifting up so he can slip your pants off, leaving you sitting in his lap in your underwear while you thrust against his leg, “I need you.”

He groans against your hair, and suddenly he’s lifting you up, holding you in his arms. You re-position your legs so you have them wrapped around his waist, making sure to avoid his injured thigh as your soaked panties come in contact with his cock, your skin on fire. He’s got one hand on your lower back and one on your ass, squeezing it as he carries you into the living room. Your head is still buried in his neck as you moan quietly against his warm skin.

He lays you down on the couch, unbuttoning the last few buttons on his shirt and pulling it off. You can see the familiar dark red lines from where you’d stitched him up, along with the numerous other faded injuries and scars, including the long one running along his abdomen. You can’t deny the arousal you feel at the sight of them, and you moan quietly without being touched. John reaches for his belt and you sit up on the couch, moving his hands out of the way so you can do it yourself.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and you can feel him watching as you pull the belt out of the loops and reach for his zipper. Within seconds his pants are on the floor and you’re face to face with his clothed cock, straining against his boxers. Without hesitation your hand comes up to stroke him, eliciting a loud groan from John above you.

He reaches down and tugs at the collar of your sweater, urging you to remove it. You drop your hand from his cock and help him take it off you, leaving you in your bra.

“Lay back for me,” he says as you reach for him again, laughing when you pout. He touches your face, smiling softly at you, “I want to take care of  _you_  for once.”

His words make you shiver and you do as you’re told, falling back onto the couch and waiting for him with anticipation. He climbs on top of you, his mouth immediately finding yours as he pins his legs on either side of you and lets his hands travel down your body, his fingers gentle against your skin. You love how he touches you, tender and slow, like he’s trying to appreciate every inch of you. You kiss him feverishly, one hand in his hair, the other at the top of his spine – the knowledge that you’re touching one of his tattoos turning you on even more.

His hand slides down to your underwear and you whimper as he reaches inside and rubs his thumb against your clit. You grip his upper arms, big and firm beneath your fingers, “John.” you hiss.

“Is that okay?” he asks, peering down at you with hungry eyes as he stills his movements. You nod immediately, answering the question by leaning up to kiss him again. You can feel him smiling against your lips, probably smug from how wet you are right now, his thumb gliding against you with ease.

“Off,” you quietly demand, and he understands, sitting up to remove your panties and slide them down your legs. Somehow, you feel yourself becoming even wetter as you watch him looking at you, his eyes glued to your pussy as he opens your legs and presses his middle finger to your entrance. His cock is pressed tightly against his boxers, a prominent wet spot near the waistband.

His eyes move to look up at your face, making eye contact as he slowly slips his finger inside of you. You reach up to pull him back to you, aching for his mouth to be back on yours. He adds another finger as you kiss, pushing them in and out of you while his thumb continues to rotate on your clit. You practically vibrate beneath him, moaning against his lips.

Your hand reaches down to grab his cock through his underwear and he lets out a soft groan. For some reason he takes your hand and moves it away from him, making you break the kiss, “I wanna touch you,” you say, breathless, “I wanna make you come.”

“This is about you.” he replies, his fingers still pumping in and out of you as he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Exactly,” you reach down and pull his hand away from you, leaving you with an incredibly empty and dissatisfied feeling, “And I wanna make you feel good.” You sit up and so does he, looking at you with a confused expression. You crawl over and sit in his lap, being careful to avoid his bullet wound as you begin to grind your bare pussy against his cock through his boxers.

“Oh, fuck.” He moans, gripping your hips and looking up to watch as you rub yourself against him. You put your hands on his shoulders, concentrating on rotating your body and making him feel as good as possible. He’s rock hard against you, and you can already feel your orgasm building as he breathes heavily and helps you rock back and forth.

“I’m gonna come,” you whimper, pressing your forehead against his, “Fuck, make me come, John.”

He moves his hands from your hips to your back, pulling you impossibly close to him, your breasts flush against his chest through your bra. You gyrate your hips a few more times and then you’re coming, your body shaking against John’s length as you still, lost in the feeling of his arms around you. He takes over for you, letting you break from moving your hips as he grips your waist again and moves you back and forth on his cock, his boxers soaked with your wetness, “Come for me,” he says, voice shaky, “That’s it, baby, come for me.”

When he calls you baby, it’s all over for him too. He reaches his hand up to the back of your neck, pulling you down to meet your lips in a sloppy kiss as his cock twitches beneath you. He shudders, holding you still as he comes against you.

You haven’t felt this connected to someone in a long time, and it was never like this. You pull away to peer down at John, pushing his hair out of his eyes as you both breathe heavily, a shaky laugh escaping your lips. He smiles at you, crooked and sleepy, “That wasn’t fair.”

Raising an eyebrow, you carefully slide off him, both of you shivering with oversensitivity, “What wasn’t?”

“I had something else planned,” he looks down at himself, laughing quietly at his damp boxers, “Kinda went out the window when you – uh – took control, though.”

You smile triumphantly, getting off the couch and standing in front of him, completely uncaring that you aren’t wearing any underwear. You feel powerful, confident; it’s all back and it’s not going away any time soon, “Well, whatever you had planned…why don’t you try it after we shower?” you reach your hand down to him, winking.

He looks at it, a smirk appearing on his face, “We?”

You nod, smiling so big your mouth practically hurts, “Yes.”

The speed in which he reaches out to take your hand is unparalleled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please feel free to like/reblog this chapter on tumblr: [chapter 8](https://keanubot.tumblr.com/post/178405209655/catastrophe-reigns-john-wickreader-chapter-8)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** 3.4k
> 
> **warnings:** SMUT. literally, the whole thing. just smut. and some softness. but mostly smut. enjoy! (i made the gif but feel free to save)

“You’re so gorgeous.” John murmurs into your neck as you both stand half naked in front of your bathroom mirror, his hand firm on your stomach as he presses against you from behind. You’re waiting for the shower to heat up; the water in your apartment is absolutely horrendous and you want to actually enjoy your first shower with John, not freeze to death.

“So are you.” you reply, and he pulls away from your neck to look at your reflection, smiling softly.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, the fingers of his left hand pulling gently at one of your bra straps. You nod, watching your cheeks redden a bit as he brings his hand up and unhooks your bra, tugging the straps down your arms. It falls to the floor, and your eyes are glued to his expression in the mirror as he gazes at your breasts. You lean back into him again, and moan quietly when he places both hands on them and squeezes gently, “Beautiful.” he whispers.

You close your eyes, your head lolling against his shoulder as he toys with your nipples, rotating them between his fingers. You can feel him getting hard again, his cock pressed tightly against your lower back.

“That was quick,“ you laugh breathlessly, opening your eyes and whimpering at the sight of him playing with your nipples, “Fuck, John…”

“You make me crazy,” he whispers, and he leans in to press his lips to your neck again, holding you close. “I can’t stop touching you.”

You’re wet again, eyes fluttering as he slowly grinds into you from behind, boxers still damp. Your stomach presses against the sink, and he holds you there, watching you come undone beneath his fingers as he touches your breasts and fucks himself against you. He’s so big compared to you, holding you completely at his mercy – not that you’re complaining. The mirror starts to steam up and you realize the water is finally hot, though you’re hesitant to say anything because you don’t want him to stop.

However, you also don’t want the water to go cold, so you reach your hands up to touch the side of John’s face, “Shower’s ready,” you say quietly, and he halts his movements.

“Sorry, got distracted,” he says, voice rough in your ear, “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievable?” you raise an eyebrow, wanting him to elaborate.

“Your body,” one hand falls from your breast and travels down to your pussy, his middle finger sliding easily between your folds and brushing your clit, “The fact that I get to touch you like this,” his finger slips past your opening and you moan, watching it disappear inside you, “The fact that you want me to…”

“Of course I want you to,” you whimper shakily, grinding back against his cock, “I want you everywhere.”

“Everywhere?” he teases, grinning as his finger slowly eases in and out of you, “Here?”

“Yes.”

“You like it when I touch you here?”

You moan, closing your eyes, “John, you’re gonna make me come if you say shit like that.”

He chuckles, stilling his finger and crooking it inside of you, causing you to jerk in his arms. “And this is bad because…?”

“Oh my god,” you squirm, his finger so deep you can feel it against your g-spot, “Fuck, the water’s gonna go cold.”

He laughs, pulling out of you and taking a step back so you’re no longer pinned to the sink, his other hand dropping from your breast. Your nipples are hard, goosebumps peppering your body from his touch, and you shiver slightly, greatly anticipating the hot water. You’re very aware of the fact that you’re completely naked while John still stands there in his boxers. You turn around and reach for them, your fingers tugging at his waistband.

“Can’t have these on in the shower,” you say with a sly smile, leaning up to kiss him as you pull them down. He pulls you close, and as his boxers fall to the floor you feel the weight of his cock against your stomach. You break the kiss and look down, lips parting; you were right,  _he’s big_. Immediately, you wrap your hand around him and start stroking, smiling when John groans and presses his face into your neck. “Feel good?”

“You have no idea,” he says breathlessly, pulling back to peer down into your eyes as you move your hand back and forth on his cock, “Y/N…” he takes your face in his hands and kisses you again, humming against your lips.

You both lose yourself for a few more moments, until John’s hand comes up and touches yours to halt your movements, “Water’s gonna go cold.” He reminds you in a whisper, and you nod and hesitantly remove your hand from his length.

You pull the shower curtain back and step inside, reaching out for John’s hand and helping him in. You see his bullet wound for the first time since last night, and you’re pleased to see that the infection has already gone down, the discolored skin looking much better. The bruise on his ribs is dark, almost black now, and you’re suddenly wondering how you hadn’t hurt him when you’d been grinding on him.

“Oh, John,” you say over the sound of the water, touching the bruise lightly, “That looks so painful.”

“I told you, I’ve had worse,” he says with a smile, taking your hand in his, “Besides, if it hadn’t happened I wouldn’t be here right now, would I?”

“I still wish you weren’t hurt.”

He kisses your hand, smiling down at you, “You’re an angel, you know that, right?” you start to protest but he presses a finger to your lips, “You are. My guardian angel.”

Your heart beats furiously in your chest as he leans down to kiss you, his hand firm on your back as the water cascades around the two of you. You feel his finger at your entrance again and you open your legs slightly as he slips inside, tongue tracing your lips. Your hand finds his cock and begins to stroke him again, but he carefully takes your wrist and pulls your hand off.

“John,” you groan against his lips, “Come on.”

“We need to actually shower,” he says with a laugh, “We can’t keep getting distracted.”

You drape your arms around his neck, brushing your nose against his, “You literally have your finger inside me.” you say softly, like it’s a secret.

His eyes stare deeply into yours, dark and gorgeous, “I do,” he agrees, pumping it in and out slowly, “I told you I couldn’t stop touching you.”

You shake your head with a smile, reaching down to move his hand away, “Then put your hands to better use and grab the soap for me, will you?” he grins, reaching toward the shower rack and grabbing the bottle. Your eyes can’t help but fall to his erection and you feel yourself blushing all over, finally getting a  _really_  good look at it.

“My eyes are up here.” John says teasingly, pouring some soap onto your loofah.

“Hey, if I’m not allowed to touch, I’m allowed to look,” you reply, licking your lips and regretfully bringing your eyes back up to his face, “And I could say a lot of things right now, but I won’t.”

He raises an eyebrow, standing in front of you as he begins to wash you, lathering your arms up with soap, “Like…?”

You grin, shaking your head, “Can’t keep getting distracted,” you repeat his words and he rolls his eyes, chuckling.

“You’re adorable,” he says softly as he starts to wash your chest, eyes trailing down to your breasts, “God, I can’t believe I’m showering with you right now. I feel like I’m having the greatest dream of my life and I’m going to wake up any second.”

He certainly knows how to make your heart jump. You peer up to watch his face as he brings the loofah down to your stomach, then your thighs. You close your eyes and lean in to wrap your arms around him, your forehead pressed to his soaking wet chest; you’ve never felt safer.

You spend the next few moments in John’s arms as he washes you, your position only changing when he asks you to turn so he can wash your back. He’s so gentle with you, and it’s moments like these that make you wonder if he really could be a hitman, an assassin – if he really could hurt somebody. It seems so…unlikely. But obviously, you know you’re wrong to think that. He’s made it very clear that his job is dangerous, and you’ve gathered that he essentially gets hurt and hurts people for a living, but you know there’s more to him than that. Whatever his job is, that’s only one part of him. And the rest of him is soft, gentle, loving, tender…

“All done,” he murmurs in your ear, pressing a kiss to it and spinning you back around to look at him, “How’d I do?”

“Very relaxing,” you say with a smile, taking the loofah from him and rinsing it under the water, “Now it’s your turn.”

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t protest as you lather it with soap and bring it to his skin, gliding it gently back and forth against his chest. You take care to be extra gentle around his stab wounds, a sad expression forming on your face as you look at all his scars again; yes, you find them hot…but they also break your heart. When you  _really_  think about the origin of them, everything he’s been through…

Like he knows what you’re thinking, his hand comes up to touch your wrist. Your eyes meet his and he slowly shakes his head, “I’m okay,” he says quietly, sincere, “I promise.”

You nod, not saying anything as you continue to wash him, the only sound being the spray of water against the tub. His thighs are strong – save for his bullet wound – but his stomach is soft. You trace the long scar on his abdomen, and you catch John’s eyes closing at your touch, his mouth opening slightly. He’s still fully hard, and you give his cock a few slow, soapy strokes, smiling to yourself when he doesn’t object.

“Turn around,” you say quietly, and he opens his eyes again, regretfully turning as you move your hand away.

You’re suddenly face to face with his tattoos. You haven’t seen them this close up before, and it takes you a few seconds to start washing his back, too distracted by the beauty of them. As you slowly wash up and down his spine, your other hand comes up to touch the praying hands in the center of his back.

“Your tattoos are beautiful,” you say, hoping you’re not crossing any lines, “The latin – what does that say?”

Silence. Then-

“Fortune favors the bold,” he replies, and he’s suddenly stiff under your hands, tense. “It doesn’t mean much to me anymore. I was very young when I got it, just starting out.”

You bite your lip, wanting to know more but questioning whether or not you’re making him uncomfortable. You know this is supposed to be relaxing, and you also know that you’re both still horny as hell – asking questions like this might ruin the mood. But you can’t help yourself, taking a breath before asking –

“Starting out?”

You continue washing his back, waiting for a reply and regretting the question almost immediately. You’d told him less than an hour ago that you wanted him to tell you things at his own pace, and yet here you are, making him uncomfortable. You shake your head at yourself, bringing the loofah downwards.

“I’m sorry,” you lean forward to press a kiss between his shoulder blades, “I’m overstepping again, aren’t I?”

You can’t hear his sigh over the water, but you can feel it. You cringe, waiting for him to pull away from you. He doesn’t though; instead, he turns around to face you again, putting your head in his hands.

“I will tell you everything,” he says firmly, eyes searching yours, “I will answer every single question you have. I mean that.” He takes the loofah from you and hangs it back on the shower rack, then puts his hands on your face again, “But right now I just want to take care of you, like you’ve taken care of me.” His nose brushes against yours, mouth inches from your lips, “Let’s go to your bedroom.”

—–

You dry each other off, both of you sneaking touches and kisses from each other on the way to your room. Fitz is curled up on your bed, and John immediately freezes in the doorway, covering himself as best he can despite his massive erection.

“You just…let him see you naked?”

An embarrassingly loud snort escapes your mouth as you walk toward the bed, gently pushing Fitz’s body to encourage him to move, “Listen, I’ve had Fitz for a long time. He’s seen it all.” Fitz meows in annoyance but jumps off the bed, running past John’s naked form. “You don’t let your dog see you naked?”

John uncovers himself and you swallow, trying to keep your eyes on his face as he walks toward you, “I think I’d rather only let  _you_  see me naked,” he says, arm wrapping around your waist as he leans in to kiss you.

You smile against his lips, heart beating fast again as you feel him carefully push you down onto the bed. He crawls on top of you, his cock wet against your stomach as he puts a leg on either side of your hips and kisses you long and deep. Your hands grip his back, holding him to you as you hook your leg around him and pull him impossibly closer. He trails his hand down your abdomen until he reaches your pussy, bringing his thumb to your clit and rotating it slowly.

Inhaling sharply, you open your eyes as he pulls his mouth off yours. He looks down at you, eyes dark, watching your reaction as he slips two fingers inside of you and crooks them deep, making you jerk against him on the bed. God, he already knows exactly how to touch you.

“John,” you whimper, writhing beneath him as he adds a third finger, your hands gripping tightly to his back, “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” he breathes, pumping his fingers in and out of you and leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth. You have a feeling he wants to say more, but he’s holding back; being a gentleman, gauging your reactions.

Some encouragement never hurt anybody. You moan against his mouth, tongue darting out to touch his lips, “You’re so fucking deep.”

He pulls back to look at you, eyes wild with arousal. He stills his fingers inside you, his thumb still rubbing circles on your clit, “I’m just getting you warmed up,” he whispers, breath hot against your face, “Told you I was gonna take care of you, didn’t I?”

You moan as John slowly pulls his fingers out and then pushes them back in, making you ache. When he removes them completely and takes his hand off, your brow furrows.

“Don’t stop,” you whimper, bucking up slightly in an attempt to get him to touch you again, “John, keep going, please.” You should probably be slightly embarrassed at how desperate you are, but John is clearly undone by it, his lips suddenly at your neck.

He kisses down your chest, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and sucking on it gently, tweaking the other one with his fingers. You shiver, lips parting as his eyes peer up at you under his lashes. He pulls off and kisses down your stomach, tongue darting out every so often to lick parts of your skin, making you moan every time.

By the time he reaches your pussy, you’re already close, your eyes rolling back as he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to your clit. His scruff feels fucking  _incredible_ , and you let out your loudest moan yet when he pushes his tongue past his lips and begins to lap at you, the sounds making you impossibly wetter. You look down at him, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair.

He meets your gaze, watching your expression as he moves his tongue downwards and pushes it inside of you, making you shake. Your hands come up to cover your face, your legs practically vibrating on the bed as he pumps his tongue in and out of you.

“John,” you practically squeal, loving the way his name rolls off your tongue, “Fuck, right there, right there.”

His hands grip your hips, thumbs spread across your pelvic bone as he continues to bury his face in your pussy. You uncover your face and look down at him again, writhing on the bed when you see that he’s still looking up at you. It’s sinful, the way he’s watching you, taking in every whimper and moan. You bring your hands back down to his hair, holding him in place. He hums against you, causing you to throw your head back, groaning loudly.

He pulls off for a few seconds, replacing his mouth with his thumb, “You taste so good,” he says, voice rough and ragged, and you look back down at him, breathing heavily. He smiles at you, mouth glistening. “So wet for me.”

You shiver, lips parting wider with every breath, “John,” you breathe, “I’m so close.”

“I know, baby,” he works his thumb against you, peering up at you earnestly, “Gonna make you come.”

The sounds escaping you are indescribable as he puts his mouth back on you, sucking and darting his tongue back and forth along your entrance. Your thighs practically form a vice around his head, holding onto him for dear life as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. After a few more seconds, you lose control, your entire body shaking as you start to come, his tongue thrusting into you one last time as you moan.

You’re so loud, and you know you have neighbors, but you really don’t care. You just ride out your orgasm, arms moving wildly on the bed as your hands reach desperately for nothing. John’s mouth doesn’t move from you until you’ve stilled, inhaling and exhaling like your life depends on it as you stare up at the ceiling in wonder.

You look down at him again as he pulls away, and you whimper when he leans back in to press a gentle kiss to your clit, making you shiver with oversensitivity. Then he’s crawling back up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before hovering over you and grinning at you from above.

“How was that?”

Unable to find the words, you simply lean up and kiss him, uncaring of the wetness that still remains on his lips. He pushes you gently against the pillows so you don’t have to exert yourself, your body limp beneath him. He pulls back and pushes your hair out of your eyes, licking his lips and smiling softly down at you.

“I need to take care of  _you_  now,” you say, even though your eyes are lidded and you’re not sure you really have it in you.

He laughs, shaking his head, “No need to worry about that.”

“But you should-”

He gently presses a finger to your lips, “I already did, Y/N.” he chuckles, looking sheepish, “You’ll probably have to wash your duvet.”

Your eyes scan down to the bottom of the bed, and you can see a dark spot near the edge, shining against the light. Something about the knowledge that he came without even being touched by you makes you shiver. You look back up at him, his eyes sparkling.

“It was perfect,” you say softly, finally answering his question, “Absolutely perfect.”

He kisses you again, soft and sweet. You can feel yourself fading, tiredness hitting you as you lay there with John watching your face. He kisses your cheek, forehead against yours, “You’ve had a busy day,” he whispers, “You should sleep.”

You want to protest, want to lie there with him and talk and bask in the afterglow. But you know he’s right; you’re already almost asleep. You watch as he carefully rolls off of you to lie next to you, and you blink at him a few times before your eyes close completely, the image of his beautiful face burning against your lids as you fall into a peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please feel free to like/reblog this chapter on tumblr: [chapter 9](https://keanubot.tumblr.com/post/178588689365/catastrophe-reigns-john-wickreader-chapter-9)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** almost 7k idk how that happened sorry
> 
> **warnings:** nsfw

When you open your eyes, the room is considerably darker than it had been when you’d fallen asleep. You blink a few times, inhaling deeply as you reach over to grab your phone: 6:21pm. You lay it back down and stretch your arms up towards the ceiling, yawning.

Becoming more aware, you turn to your right and see John lying beside you. While you were sleeping he’d draped your duvet over the two of you, and you feel incredibly warm as you peer at his face. He’s asleep, face relaxed and beautiful; you can’t help but reach out and stroke his hair, pushing a few strands behind his ear so you can see him better. Still asleep, he leans into your touch, sighing softly and smacking his lips lightly.

“I…” you say into the darkness, but you stop yourself.  _That makes no sense. It makes no sense for you to say that, or feel that. It’s not logical._

You shake your head at yourself and move toward him, being careful not to jostle him too much as you drape your arm over him and gently touch your forehead to his. He leans in again and brushes his nose against yours, breath warm on your face. You look at him a little longer, reveling in the peacefulness of this moment and the way his body feels against yours.

_I do, though_ , you think to yourself as you fade into sleep once more.  _I really do._

—–

You wake again a little while later, but it’s because you feel something tapping your arm. Your eyes snap open, immediately searching for the culprit; the light on your nightstand has been switched on and you can feel a weight beside you on the edge of your bed. You look up and see John sitting there, smiling softly.

“Sorry, I wanted to let you sleep but I know you’d kill me if I left another note,” he says quietly, reaching down to touch your cheek.

You notice that he’s wearing his suit again, and he’s got his shoes on. Your brow furrows and you sit up in bed, suddenly wide awake, “Are you leaving?”

He nods, placing his hand on your knee, “I need to take care of a few things, but I’ll be back later tonight,” he pauses, deliberating for a moment, “Do you, uh, mind if I bring my dog over? Would Fitz mind that?”

You grin, shaking your head, “Oh, he’d love it, seriously. He used to be best friends with my parent’s dog when I lived with them. It was pretty cute.” You can’t deny that the main reason for your smile is John’s promise of coming back, your heart stuttering at the knowledge that he truly wants you.

John raises an eyebrow, “Really? Isn’t that pretty unusual?”

You shrug, “Fitz is an unusual kinda guy.”

John laughs, squeezing your knee gently, “So is my dog.” he pulls his phone out of his pocket and glances at the time, “I gotta go, but I promise I’ll be back. Probably around ten?”

“Okay,” you nod, smiling. “Thank you for not leaving a note.”

He chuckles, leaning down to kiss your forehead, “I’m learning.” He pulls back and you point to your lips, pouting slightly. He smiles and leans back down to kiss you softly, “Goodbye, my angel.” He murmurs against your lips.

His words send that familiar warmth throughout your entire body, your eyes closing as you reach up to hold his face and bring his mouth back to yours, kissing him hard. He kisses you back, the hand on your knee traveling up to your thigh, making you shiver even though his hand is above the blanket. You inadvertently moan against his lips, and you feel him smile.

He pulls away, removing his hand and standing up, “Later,” he says with a wink, “I’m not done with you yet.”

“You’re not?” you tease, and you let the blanket fall from your chest, your breasts on display.

He inhales sharply, eyes traveling downward, “Definitely not,” he breathes, voice low. His eyes look back into yours, slightly glazed, “Do you have to work tomorrow?”

“No, do you?”

He smiles slowly, seductively, “I don’t. I won’t have to work for a while, actually.” He leans back down to you, places his hand on your chest and lets it travel down under the blankets, stopping at your pelvic bone. Your eyes don’t leave his, breath suddenly quick as he places his thumb directly above where you need it to be, teasing you. “I expect we’ll have a late night,” he says quietly, thumb stroking your skin, “Is that alright with you?”

You nod, swallowing, “Y-yes.”

He smiles, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you. He leans in and kisses you again, a quick peck, not nearly enough. He pulls his hand out from under the blankets and begins to back away from you, “I’ll text you when I’m on my way over,” he reaches the door and turns the knob.

Your medical side suddenly kicks in just as he’s about to leave the room, and you shake your head to snap yourself out of your arousal, “Wait, when did you take your antibiotics last?”

“When I woke up about fifteen minutes ago,” he reassures you with a wink, “Don’t worry, I’m following your orders.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes, “Goodbye, John.”

He smiles crookedly, walking out into the hall, “I’ll be back soon.” After one last parting glance he shuts the door, and you listen as his footsteps trail further and further away from you. You hear the front door close and you immediately swing your legs off the bed, standing up and stretching. As a nurse who’s used to sleeping at random times, you know it’s probably best to get up now before you fall asleep again. Besides, you want to be alert when John comes home later; you shiver at the thought.

You pull on some comfy clothes and walk to the end of your bed, eyes searching for one thing in particular. When you find it, you unconsciously giggle to yourself, lifting up the duvet a bit to look a little closer;  _oh yeah, that’s a cum stain._  You can’t stop your giggling as you roll up the duvet in your arms and throw it to the floor, stripping the rest of your bed as well. You figure that if John has plans for later, clean sheets might be nicer.

You toss everything into your laundry basket and leave the room with it, walking to your front door and putting it down so you can put your shoes on. Fitz is drinking from his water bowl and you make a quiet tutting noise, “Hey baby, you wanna come do laundry with me?”

He looks up and wanders over to you, sniffing the basket. As an indoor cat, Fitz rarely leaves the apartment other than to watch you do laundry, which he quite enjoys for some reason. You’re pretty sure the sound of the washing machines calms him in some way. You open the door and pick up the basket again, Fitz slipping out past your legs.

You head down to the basement and are relieved to find that there’s no one there; there’s a few older women in your building who like to make awkward small talk, which has never been your strong suit. You start loading your items into one of the washing machines while Fitz jumps up and begins to walk along the line of them, looking for a place to curl up.

After adding the detergent, you’re about to close the lid when you hear footsteps coming down the stairs. You turn, biting your lip as you wait for Bernice to appear and start telling you all about her incredibly uneventful trip to the grocery store, mentally cursing yourself for not coming down just a few minutes earlier. However, it’s not Bernice or Colette or anyone that you recognize. It’s a man, a bit haggard looking and wearing a leather jacket. You can see a tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve.

He makes it to the bottom of the stairs and slows when he sees you, coming to a stop a few washing machines down from you. You’re immediately uneasy, noticing instantly that he’s not holding any laundry or a basket.

You look away from him and close the lid of the washing machine, heart beating a bit quickly in your chest. You’ve never felt unsafe in this building; all of the tenants are relatively kind people with steady jobs, there’s even a couple with two kids living on the top floor. It’s rare to see anyone who looks out of place, and this man  _definitely_  looks out of place.

_Don’t be so judgemental, he could be harmless,_  you tell yourself. It’s true, you encounter people all the time at the hospital who look a bit threatening but turn out to be totally fine. But that’s a hospital; it’s perfectly normal to see all kinds of different people there. At your apartment you’re more used to seeing chatty old ladies and children.

“Hello there.” you hear, and your heart beats even faster as you turn to look at him again.

“Hi.” you grab your basket, hoping he doesn’t notice that your hands are a bit shaky.

“Do you live here?”

He has an accent, the origin of which you’re not really sure. Russian, maybe? You don’t really have time to mull it over, looking away from him again to search for Fitz; he’s sitting atop the furthest washing machine, eyes very alert as he watches the man talking to you. You feel a bit safer knowing Fitz is aware of him.

“Uh, yeah,” you say quickly, and you gesture toward Fitz, “Come on, baby, let’s go.”

“No need to leave in a hurry,” the man says, and he takes a few steps toward you, “I’m just looking for someone.”

Fitz has joined the two of you, and he hisses when the man moves towards you. He freezes in place, raising his eyebrows at Fitz and putting his hands up, “Nice cat.” He says it very sarcastically, and you can say with absolute certainty at this point that you do not like this person.

“Sorry, I need to get back,” you say a bit awkwardly, walking past the man and reaching the stairs. Fitz usually runs ahead of you, but this time he stays by your side. You give the man one last glance before beginning your ascent, “Bye.”

“Have a nice night, princess.”

You don’t let him see the look of disgust on your face at his words, climbing the stairs a bit quicker than usual. When you get back to the first floor, you look behind you to make sure he’s not following you. Just as you re-enter your apartment, you see his head appear through the bannister, and you shut your door as quickly as possible, hoping he doesn’t see. The last thing you need is some weirdo knowing exactly where you live.

“What a creep,” you say to Fitz, placing the basket on the floor and going into the kitchen to wash your hands, “ _Princess._  God, who does he think he is?” You reach into one of the cupboards and grab a bag of treats, pulling one out and leaning down to him. “Thank you for protecting me, what a good boy.” Fitz takes the treat happily and you scratch him lightly behind his ears.

You’re not going to let the strange encounter bother you; instead, you decide to clean up the apartment a bit. Since you spend a lot of time at the hospital and pretty much any day you have off is usually spent relaxing, you figure the place needs a bit of sprucing – especially knowing that John is coming back. You start in the living room, cringing at the amount of clutter that John has definitely seen by now; empty food containers, Fitz’s toys, magazines and books scattered here and there, it’s not pretty.

When you go to tidy the couch, you feel yourself blush when you see your underwear peeking out from between the cushions, left behind from when John had pulled them down your legs. Just the memory itself makes you ache, and you cross your legs slightly to quench it, shaking your head.  _God,_  he’s made you a horny teenager all over again.

After tidying up the living room and cleaning up the water from the bathroom floor – which you hadn’t even noticed had sprayed out so much at the time – you head to the kitchen and open the fridge, searching for something to eat for dinner. As usual, there’s not much choice, especially after John had raided your fridge this morning. You contemplate ordering some pizza but you wonder whether your bank account can handle it this week.

_What the hell, you deserve it_ , you think to yourself, and quickly order a small pizza before heading out your apartment door again, Fitz at your side. You’ve got to put your laundry in the dryer, though you’re slightly apprehensive about seeing the creepy Russian guy again. Luckily, you don’t see him anywhere and before you know it you’re heading back upstairs – though, a bit faster than normal.

The rest of your evening follows the same relatively uneventful pace; you eat pizza and watch some TV, clean out Fitz’s litterbox, finish doing your laundry – thankfully not running into anyone – and remake your bed. You touch a few things up around your room, putting things away and desperately hoping that John hadn’t seen that embarrassing picture of you at age 14 with your parents, grinning widely at the camera with a full face of braces. You take it off your nightstand and put it in your closet.

_He can see it eventually…just not right before he fucks me._

You bite your lip and flop backwards on your bed, staring at the ceiling _. He’s gonna fuck me._ You can hear yourself giggling again and you’re starting to wonder if you’re actually okay.

“He’s gonna fuck me,” you say it out loud, quietly, but loud enough so the words are solid in your ears, “Tonight.” you add, and the giggling gets louder.

You turn your head and see yourself in the mirror, cringing.  _God, you need to chill out._

Your phone vibrates beside you and you unlock it, your breath stopping when you see a text from John:

**_On our way. Should be there in fifteen minutes._ **

The “our” makes you smile, remembering that not only is John staying the night, but so is his dog. You’re sure he’ll get along with Fitz, but if not, it’s not the end of the world if you need to keep them separated; it’s just one night. And there’s no way you’re letting a couple of pets get in the way of you  _finally_  getting laid.

Springing up from your bed, you leave the room and grab some matches, lighting a few candles here and there. The apartment is soon filled with the scent of sweet cinnamon and cloves, and you hurry at the last minute to change your outfit, switching out your sweatpants for leggings and your hoodie for a tightly clinging sweater. You’re just finishing up your makeup when you hear John knock at the door, and you take a few deep breaths as you look into the mirror.

_Breathe. He wants you. You’re hot. He wants you. Breathe._

The second you pull open the front door, a grey pit bull is climbing up your legs, tail wagging furiously and tongue hanging out. You squeal with delight, reaching down to pet the top of his head, “Oh my goodness! Hi there!” He’s absolutely adorable and you’re smitten almost immediately, crouching down to his level and letting him lick your face, “Oh, thank you very much.”

John is laughing above you, and you look up to smile at him as his dog continues to lick and sniff your face. “Alright, boy,” John says, brushing his foot against the dog’s back, “That’s enough. Down.”

The dog obeys quickly, sitting back on his hind legs but continuing to smile at you with his tongue lolling out. You stand up and gesture for the two of them to come inside, “Wait here, I’ll go get Fitz.” You’d purposely left him in your room until it was time.

“I don’t get a kiss?” John asks, and your face warms. You reach for him immediately, putting your arms around his neck and leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him. “Mmm, thank you.” he says when you pull away, and you both stare into each other’s eyes for a few seconds before you pull back and head to your room, skin covered in goosebumps.

The introductory process goes incredibly smooth, which couldn’t be more of a relief. Initially, Fitz is a bit unsure, hissing and standing on his hind legs as he surveys the intruder. But John’s dog stays still and allows Fitz to sniff at him, the dog doing the same until Fitz decides he isn’t a threat and leaves the room, uninterested. You look at John and shrug, smiling, “Well, that was easy.” You reach down and pet the dog again, “Wasn’t that easy…?” you trail off, “Oh my god, I just realized, I don’t even know his name.”

John chuckles, smiling a little sheepishly as he scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah, about that…” he looks down at the dog, “He, uh, he doesn’t have a name.”

You pull your hand away, standing up straight and staring at John with what you’re sure is an incredibly shocked expression on your face, “You-” you look from the dog to John, then back to the dog, then back to John, “You didn’t  _name_  him? How long have you had him?!” God, you hate how blunt you are, but John’s clearly used to it by now, putting his hands up and grinning at your reaction.

“I know, I know! It’s ridiculous. It’s also a long story,” the grin fades a bit, turning into a fond smile as he looks down at the pit bull, “I’ve had him for about a year.”

“ _A year?_ ” you ask incredulously, eyes wide, “A whole year and you didn’t even think to give him a name? Jesus, John.”

“As I said, long story.” He rubs the top of the dog’s head, then freezes and looks up at you again, “Which I promise I will tell you.”

“So, what do I call him?”

He shrugs, “I usually just say ‘boy’. But if there’s anything else you wanna call him, go ahead.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Are you saying I can name him?”

He smiles, eyes bright, “Why not? He needs a name, I’m clearly not the right person to do it.” He takes a step toward you and cradles your face in his hand, “Maybe he’s been waiting for you all along.”

Your hand comes up to touch his chest, and you realize that he’s changed his clothes – you’d been too caught up in the animal introduction to notice. He’s wearing a dark grey t-shirt with a brown leather jacket over it, along with some casual dark jeans and boots. He looks absolutely gorgeous, and when your eyes come back up to look into his, he’s watching you assess him.

“I’ve never seen you without a suit,” you say, biting your lip.

“Maybe re-word that,” he replies with a chuckle, “Because you’ve definitely seen me without a suit.”

You feel your cheeks warm and you hit his chest playfully, “You know what I mean. I’ve never seen you…casually dressed.’

“…And?” he asks quietly, seeking your approval, “What do you think? Prefer the suit?”

To answer his question, you lean forward and kiss him, and  _god_ , you don’t know if you’ll ever get used to the fact that you can just  _do_  that now. He tastes different, minty. You realize he must have gone home to change and freshen up.

“You look sexy.” you whisper as you pull away, and you feel his other hand come up to grip your back, pulling you closer to him.

“Nowhere near as sexy as you,” he breathes, his hands slowly falling to your ass, squeezing gently.

Your eyes involuntarily close and you bury your face in his neck, whimpering as he kneads you in his hands and pulls you even tighter to him. You rub yourself against his crotch, and he inhales sharply, gripping you in his hands.

“You said you weren’t done with me,” you murmur against his neck, grinding against him again, “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“It means exactly what you think it means,” he kisses your ear, breath hot. “If you want that.”

You wrap your arms around him, eyes shut tight as you feel him getting hard against you, “I do,” you breathe, “I want it so bad.”

John groans at your words, low and deep.

A loud bark breaks the two of you apart, and you both look down at John’s dog, who’s now growling directly at you. You take a step back, hand over your heart.

“No.” John says firmly, pointing at the dog, then at you, “Bad boy. Y/N is good.”

The dog stops growling almost immediately, falling back into his initial sitting position and tilting his head to the side, as if he’s really listening to John. John points to you again, “Y/N – good. Okay? Good.”

The dog settles on the floor, curling up and looking at you and John with big, guilty eyes. John reaches down, stroking the top of his head gently, “Good boy.”

Your hand falls and you look at John, eyes slightly wide, “I’m sorry, did I do something to make him angry?”

John shakes his head immediately, standing up and reaching out to take your hand, “No, not at all. He’s just protecting me, he thought you were hurting me.” He pulls you closer to him, looking worriedly into your eyes, “Are you okay? That must have scared you, I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” you reassure him, then peer down at his dog, “Does he not like me, though? Should I keep my distance?”

You’re surprised when John laughs, “I can guarantee that he will never growl at you again. As I said earlier, he’s a pretty unusual guy,” he gestures toward the dog, “Go ahead, pet him. It’s safe, I promise.”

A little hesitantly, you crouch down and pet the dog, and you’re quite happy to find that he brings his head up to nuzzle against your hand, tail wagging.

“See? Totally harmless.” You hear John say, and the dog suddenly rolls over, wanting you to rub his belly. You oblige, smiling as you do it. “I don’t know what it is about him, but ever since he came into my life he’s been the most well-behaved dog I’ve ever seen. Does everything I say, learns incredibly quickly. He doesn’t even need a leash when we go for walks,” he pauses, “Although, I do put one on him when we walk in parks and places like that, it’s kind of the law.”

“The law?” you say in faux shock, turning around to look at John and placing a hand over your mouth, “ _You_  follow laws?”

He smiles, nodding, “I know, right? Shocking.” He crouches down beside you, scratching behind the dog’s ears while you continue to rub his belly, “Anyway, he has an…idea…of what I do. He understands that I have more enemies than friends. When he barks like that, he’s just looking out for me.”

_More enemies than friends._  He says it so casually, like there’s nothing strange – or heartbreaking – about it. You wonder if John’s dog knows more about what John does than you do.

You hear a growling sound and you pull your hand back, although you realize a few seconds later that the sound isn’t coming from the dog. You look to your left, raising an eyebrow at John, “Was that your stomach?”

John looks at you sheepishly, “Maybe.”

You laugh, getting up and reaching down to help him stand, “I’ve got some pizza left over. Come sit down, I’ll heat it up for you.”

“You don’t-” You bring your finger up to his lips to silence him, shaking your head. He sighs, laughing, “Sure, that sounds good. Thank you.”

John sits at the table while you busy yourself with the pizza, watching from the corner of your eye as he shrugs his jacket off his shoulders and hangs it on the back of his chair. You smile to yourself at the casualness, the way John settles in, his dog curled up at his feet. You feel like you’re finally seeing him as a regular person – not bloodied and beaten and in need of help, but just hungry… and a little horny. Everything suddenly seems so normal.

The microwave dings and you bring the plate over, sitting down with John and pushing it toward him, “I could’ve eaten it cold,” he says with a laugh, picking a piece up and bringing it to his mouth for a bite.

You roll your eyes, “Believe me, John – microwaving two slices of pizza for 45 seconds is hardly a difficult task.”

Neither of you speak for a few minutes as John eats, and you find yourself sitting with your chin in your hand, smiling softly at him as you watch him chew. He’s already got sauce in his beard but he doesn’t seem to notice, taking bite after bite until he catches you looking. He raises an eyebrow, swallowing, “What?”

You laugh to yourself, still staring at him, “You’re so cute.”

Your heart flutters when you see his cheeks turn red, looking down at his plate and smiling to himself.  _You just made him blush._

“You  _are_ ,” you reiterate, grinning widely, “Like, yeah, you’re sexy – whatever. But your cuteness….” He waves his hand as you tease him, taking another bite, “It’s out of this world, you’re adorable.”

“Stop.” he laughs, and you lean forward in your chair, eyes bright.

“I’m just stating facts.”

He finishes the pizza, still unaware of the sauce in his beard. He looks at you, shaking his head, “My sexiness is  _whatever_?” he jokes, “Ouch.”

You grimace, pretending to deliberate, “Well, I’ll admit… that was a lie.”

He smiles at you, eyes peering into yours slightly mischievously, “It had to have been, ‘cause you certainly found me sexy when I came in,” he reaches forward and runs his finger along the back of your hand, making you shiver, “What was it you said? ‘I want it so bad’? Is that right?”

You gulp, your smile fading under his gaze, suddenly feeling exposed even though you’re fully dressed. He’s looking at you with quickly darkening eyes, and you immediately feel a sudden wetness in your underwear, crossing your legs.

“Is that what you said?” he asks softly, and you just nod, watching as his hand falls from your hand to your knee.

He’s already gaining the upper hand, which you like…but you’re not done teasing. You still have one last joke in you before you give in to him completely, reaching over and pressing your thumb into his beard to smear some of the sauce against your skin. You pull it back and show him, raising an eyebrow, “So pizza sauce being stuck in your beard for ten minutes is considered sexy now?”

He looks at you, then your thumb, then back at you. A slow smile appears on his face, like he knows something you don’t. You watch as he leans forward and carefully wraps his lips around your thumb, eyes not leaving yours as he takes it into his mouth. Your mouth opens, skin burning as he gently sucks, taking his time. His tongue glides slowly back and forth, and then he ever so slowly pulls off, his eyes never leaving yours.

Smacking his lips, he leans back in the chair, taking his hand off your knee and smiling proudly, “I don’t know, seems pretty sexy to me.”

Before you know it, you’re out of your chair, practically knocking it down as you move to John and position yourself in his lap, being sure to avoid his bullet wound. Your mouth is on his in a heartbeat, and his hands come up to tangle in your hair as he bucks up against you. He’s hard, you can feel the long shape of his cock through your leggings.

You feel his hand travel downward, into your underwear, and you whimper when his index finger touches your clit and begins to rub it, not wasting any time at all. You wrap your arms around him, barely coming up for air to breathe as his tongue slips into your mouth. He moves his finger from your clit and pushes it inside you, and you let out a long moan, pulling away and throwing your head back. His lips are suddenly at your neck, breath hot as he slowly fucks you with his finger.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, leaning forward to press your forehead against his shoulder. You turn your head slightly, and you notice that John’s dog is still curled up at John’s feet. He’s got his eyes closed, but you suddenly realize that the room is a little too crowded for your liking.

You truly hate to do it, what with John’s finger being so deep and his hands touching you in all the right places, but you have to. You pull back, whimpering when you see that he’s looking at your face to gauge how much you like what he’s doing.

“Wait.” You say reluctantly, voice breathless.

Immediately, John halt his movements, his finger slipping out of you as he looks at you with sudden worry, “Do you want me to stop?”

You quickly shake your head, laughing breathlessly, “No, it’s not that.” You lean your forehead against his, grinding down against his thigh, “It feels amazing, seriously. But we need to move this to my bedroom,” you look down at the dog, cringing, “I’d rather not have an audience.”

John looks at his dog and laughs, nodding, “Yeah, me neither.” He turns back to you and brings his hands down to your ass again, squeezing. “He’s too innocent to see the things I’m gonna do to you,” he pauses, looking sheepish, “Sorry, is that too much?”

“No,” you say, and it’s practically a moan in itself, “Not at all.” You hesitantly climb out of his lap, noticing a wet spot on his jeans, “God, sorry.”

“Do  _not_  apologize,” he says, still catching his breath, “Seriously.”

You smile, reaching out your hand, “Bedroom?”

He looks at it, biting his lip, then sighs. “Unfortunately, I think now would be a good time for me to take the dog out,” he scratches the back of his head, “Knowing me, I’ll fall asleep and he’ll, uh… well, he’ll ruin your carpet.”

You laugh, leaning down to pet John’s dog, “Okay, boy. Don’t keep him too long, I need him.” When you stand back up, John is looking at you hungrily.

“Need me, huh?”

You nod, slowly backing up. As you walk backwards, you pull your sweater over your head and toss it to the floor, showing John the lacy black bra you’d chosen to wear. John stares, swallowing hard as you pull down your leggings and expose your black panties to him.

“Don’t take too long,” you say softly, grabbing the knob of your bedroom door, “I’ll be waiting in my bed for you.”

As you open the door and step inside, you hear him groan, and you laugh breathlessly to yourself, marveling at your confidence. You immediately look around your room to make sure there’s nothing else laying out that you don’t want John to see. Unable to find anything, you quickly light a few candles on your dresser and dim the lights, smiling at yourself in the mirror. You have to say, you look pretty damn hot.

Lighting the candles reminds you that there’s still a bunch in the living room that are lit, and you sigh to yourself as you head back out and start to blow them all out. This also gives you an opportunity to move Fitz from your bed to the couch, and he meows a bit angrily when you pick him up.

“Sorry, baby. It’s time for mommy to get laid.”

You’re pretty sure you’ve thought of everything, including condoms, which wouldn’t be necessary if you hadn’t stopped taking your birth control pills six months ago. You mentally remind yourself to get a new prescription as you pull out the box of condoms from the bottom drawer of your dresser. You’d checked the date earlier; they aren’t expired. But you know for a fact that you haven’t had to dip into this box for at least a year.

You pull one out and stare at it, biting your lip and suddenly coming to the realization that they might not be big enough. Which, though hot as hell, would really fucking suck.

The sound of your apartment door opening makes you stand up and quickly run to your bed. You put the condom on the nightstand and settle back against the pillows in what you’re hoping is a relatively sexy position. You cross your legs, staring at the closed door as you wait for the knob to turn. Less than a minute later, the door opens and John enters the room, freezing when he sees you.

“Took you long enough,” you tease, licking your lips, “I’ve been waiting.”

John closes the door and takes a step towards the bed, taking his jacket off and letting it fall to the ground, “Sorry, I was detained in the hallway.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Detained?”

He smiles, reaching down and tugging his socks off before crawling onto your bed and coming to a stop halfway. He puts his hands on your knees and slowly opens your legs, eyes darting immediately to your crotch, “Just someone who lives in the building, they wouldn’t stop talking,” he explains with a laugh, leaning his head down, “But I’m here now,” he presses a kiss to your clit through your underwear and you shiver, “Let’s get these off.”

As he reaches up to begin pulling them off, a thought comes to your mind, and as much as you want to just lie back and let John have his way with you…you have to know.

“Was it some creepy Russian guy?” you ask curiously.

John freezes, your panties halfway down your legs. He lets go of them, pulling back to look at you, face suddenly serious.

“Russian guy?”

You stare at him, puzzled, “Uh, yeah. There was – well, earlier, I went downstairs to do some laundry and there was this guy there, he creeped me out,” you’re a bit uncomfortable talking about it during such an intimate moment, not wanting to ruin it by thinking about such a weird encounter, “He called me princess, it was annoying.”

John’s brow furrows, “And he was Russian? You’re sure? What did he look like?”

You laugh, shaking your head in confusion, “We can talk about it later. Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up, I just wanted to know if he was still hanging around.”

John doesn’t move, still looking at you with an incredibly serious expression on his face, “Was he definitely Russian?”

“I-” you sigh in annoyance, running your hands through your hair, “I don’t know, John. I think it was Russian, I haven’t heard many Russian accents. And he looked…I don’t know, he looked kind of a mess. His hair was greying, he had a lot of stubble…” you shrug, “A couple tattoos, smelled like cigarettes. Why does it matter?” you sit up and reach down to pull your underwear completely off, leaving you exposed, “Come on, let’s get back to what we were doing.”

John gets off the bed, putting his hand over his mouth and staring at the door, seemingly lost in thought. Slightly hurt, and losing confidence, you sit on the edge of the bed and reach out to touch his arm. He barely registers it, not looking at you.

“John,” you say quietly, “I want you, come on.”

“I…” he turns to look at you finally, but he drops his hand and just shakes his head, “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

You stare at him, his words like a punch in the gut, “ _What?_ ”

“I have to go,” he repeats, walking to the door and pulling it open. You get up and follow him, grabbing your underwear as you go and awkwardly putting them back on.

“Why? John, where are you going?” you run to him and grab his arm, feeling tears suddenly stinging your eyes, “What happened? What did I do?”

He stops then, turning to look at you and taking a deep breath. He reaches up and cradles your face in his hands, looking into your eyes with that familiar sincerity, “You didn’t do anything. Nothing, okay? This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

You feel the tears spill over, and you mentally curse yourself for being so fucking overemotional, “Then why are you leaving? Stay, please,” your hands come up to grip his shoulders, “I want you to stay.”

He shakes his head, still holding your face in his hands, “Listen, I’ll explain. I promise. And I’ll be back. But right now I just need you to stay here. And whatever you do, don’t open the door for anyone.”

“John, we’ve been over this. You have to explain something, you can’t just leave and expect me to just blindly trust whatever you s-”

“You have to,” he interrupts you, voice firm and steady, “You just have to, okay? I’ll explain when I come back. Just stay here and don’t leave your apartment.” He pulls away and slips into his shoes, not even bothering to put his socks back on or his jacket.

“I can’t even leave the  _apartment_?” you ask incredulously, mind reeling at the turn this night has taken, “John, what the fuck is happening?”

He opens the front door and turns to look at you, eyes dark, but not in the deep and sexy way they usually are – they’re dark in a different way; angry, malicious,  _dangerous_.

“Just stay here,” he says, looking directly into your eyes, “Please.”

And then he’s gone, door slamming behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please feel free to like/reblog this chapter on tumblr: [chapter 10](https://keanubot.tumblr.com/post/178744053755/catastrophe-reigns-john-wickreader-chapter-10)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** about 5k (i had to split this into two parts because if i didn’t it would be over 10k and i’m not gonna put yall through that fsdhfds)
> 
> **warnings:** uhhhh blood, mentions of violence, not sure if those are really things i need to warn for considering this is a john wick fic but just in case

You’re not sure how long you sit in your kitchen, not moving as you stare at the door and feel tears steadily streaming down your face. You have never felt so angry in your life, and despite barely knowing him for any time at all, you truly hadn’t ever expected to feel this angry at  _John_. You know he’ll be back soon, you know he’d meant that, but it doesn’t make any of this okay.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” you say aloud to yourself, and John’s dog’s ears perk up; he’s sitting at your feet, waiting patiently for his owner to return, “What the fuck were you thinking?” you shake your head, biting down hard on your lip.

The dog leans against you, nuzzling his face into your legs and blinking up at you. You look down at him, sniffling as you watch him press his nose against your ankle, his breath warm and comforting on your skin. Slowly, you reach down to pet him gently. He closes his eyes and makes a happy noise, settling at your feet and cuddling into you.

“Thank you,” you whisper softly, scratching his ears, “I needed that.”

You sit there for a few more moments, then slowly come to the realization that you’re still only wearing your underwear. Getting up carefully as to avoid jostling John’s dog too much, you head to your bedroom to change, picking up your clothes off the floor that you’d dropped earlier. Fitz has returned to your bed, curled into a ball on the end of it, and he looks up when you enter. Sensing immediately that something is wrong, he uncurls himself and meows at you curiously.

“I’m okay, buddy,” you reassure him, tossing your sweater and leggings onto your bed and grabbing your sweatpants and hoodie again. You give yourself one final glance in the mirror, no longer feeling hot or desirable or any variation of what you felt earlier. You shake your head and take the lingerie off, throwing it into the laundry basket before changing into your more comfortable clothing.

You spot the condom on your nightstand and stare at it for a few seconds, then grab it and shove it into the drawer without a second glance. There’s absolutely  _no way_  that’s happening now.

You blow out the candles you’d lit and leave the room, Fitz following behind you and cuddling up to your side when you settle onto the couch. You hear the sound of claws against the floor and you both look over to see John’s dog waddling towards you. Fitz tenses a little at your side but doesn’t move, eyes fixed on the dog as he comes to a stop at your feet and peers up at you. You smile through your tears, patting the couch and inviting him to come up. He wags his tail happily and bounces up, curling at your side and placing his head on your thigh.

“What a good boy,” you say, laughing to yourself when Fitz nudges your other arm, “And you too, of course.” You pet both of them and Fitz relaxes against you, curling back up.

You turn on the TV but you don’t pay attention to what’s on, vaguely aware of it being another romantic comedy. You think back to this time yesterday, when you’d been sitting with Fitz on this very couch, hoping against hope that John would be back. It feels like weeks ago. Robbing the hospital in the early hours of this morning feels like days. The amount that’s happened in such a short span of time is difficult to wrap your mind around, and as you sit there staring at the TV but not really watching it, everything seems to slowly sink in.

You don’t regret it, you don’t, as much as you may want to. You said it yourself earlier in bed – well,  _almost_  said it. It might not make sense, it might be  _way_  too soon, it may be the weirdest thing in the world, but you can’t deny it.

You’re falling in love with him.

“How the hell did that happen?” you ask incredulously, wiping your eyes again, “How the actual  _fuck_ did that happen?” John’s dog peers up at you, brown eyes kind and curious, and you pet him gently, shaking your head.

You know that’s why you’re so upset, why you’re so fucking  _angry_  right now at someone you barely know. It’s because you’re falling so ridiculously hard for him that being treated like this hurts a hundred times more than anyone else treating you this way. And it’s not even like he’s necessarily treating you badly, he’s just…not trusting you. For whatever reason, he feels like he can’t share with you. And you  _hate_  that, because it’s all you want him to be able to do. You want him to trust you, to share with you…

_To love you._

An hour ago you were thinking about him fucking you, and now all you can think about is him loving you. Great.

Despite all of this, you still can’t believe that he just… _left_  like that. Without any warning, any sort of explanation… right before he’d been about to  _have sex_  with you. You’d felt so unwanted as he’d walked out that door, leaving you standing there in your underwear like an idiot. There’s no way you’re gonna let him get away with that, just let it slide like you’ve let everything else slide.

_It’s now or never_ , you decide, leaning back against the couch,  _I’m getting answers whether he likes it or not._

Even though you’ve slept much more than usual in the last twelve hours, you still feel exhausted. You feel your eyes start to close, both hands still resting on John’s dog and Fitz as you allow yourself to relax and fall into an uneasy sleep.

—–

The sound of a loud bark right beside your ear wakes you up, your eyes snapping open as you sit up quickly on the couch. A completely different movie is playing on TV, and you watch as John’s dog – who’d woken you up seconds ago – runs out of the living room to reach the front door. Fitz also jumps off the couch, darting to the kitchen to peer around the corner curiously.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, heart speeding up a bit, “Did you hear something?”

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door, and you can only assume that this is what John’s dog had started barking about. You rise from the couch, turning off the TV and walking quickly to the kitchen. John’s dog is standing in front of the door, growling. You walk to him and he looks up at you, then looks back towards the door and growls again, as if to warn you.

_He’s protecting you._

You reach down and pet him, “It might be your owner,” you whisper, trying to calm him, “Good boy, though, good boy.” You wonder if he’d attack an intruder, then you remember what John had said earlier about his dog having a vague idea of what he does;  _oh yeah, he’ll attack._

“Who is it?” you ask through the door, holding it closed with your body and pressing your ear to the wood.

“It’s me.”

You feel resentment rise in your stomach at the sound of his voice. Not opening the door right away, you pull back and stare at it, feeling tears prick in your eyes again. Your gaze turns to kitchen, and you spot the time blinking on the oven; 2:45am. He’s been gone for over four hours.

“Y/N…” you hear, and you bite your lip, feeling a single tear slide down your cheek as you attempt to hold in the rest of them, “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, you have no idea.”

Crossing your arms, you look down at John’s dog and see that he’s looking up at you, no longer tense but seemingly confused as to why you haven’t opened the door for his owner. He stands up, tail wagging as he smiles up at you and breathes heavily in excitement. You remember when you’d felt a similar excitement when waiting for John and you feel the tears spill over, sniffling pitifully as you stand there, unsure of what to do.

“Please,” John says through the door, and you can tell he’s as close as possible to it, probably has his forehead pressed to the wood, “Angel, please, I need to explain. Let me explain.”

“Don’t call me that.” you say, your voice clearly giving away the fact that you’re crying.

Silence. Then –

“I will tell you everything. Right here, right now. Everything you want to know,” you can hear the sincerity in his voice, the resolve; he’d thought about this on the way over, “I’ll explain my job to you, I’ll explain why I left. Anything you ask me, I’ll give you a straight answer, I promise.”

You inhale deeply, wiping your tears away as best you can, “Promise?”

“I promise, Y/N. I mean that.”

You unlock the door and pull it open, meaning to look away but instantly noticing that something is wrong. John’s hands had been pressed against the door, and as you’d opened it they’d passed directly in front of your face. You look at his left hand with wide eyes, frozen at the sight of dried blood all over his knuckles.

“Your hand.” you say, voice shaky, and he doesn’t respond. He just enters the apartment and pulls you into his arms, squeezing you tightly and kicking the door closed behind him.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, hands firm against your back, “I don’t know if you’ll be able to forgive me, but I just need you to know how sorry I am,” he pulls back, holding your face in his hands and peering earnestly into your eyes, “I didn’t think. I never do, I always act without thinking. It does nothing but get me into trouble and yet here I am, still apologizing for it,” he presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes, “You didn’t deserve that, you don’t deserve any of this.”

“John, slow down,” you say quietly, wanting to hug him back but still feeling the burn of anger and resentment in your veins. You pull away from him, gesturing to the kitchen table, “Come sit down, I’ll get the first aid kit.”

“No, I just need to rinse it under some water,” he walks toward the sink, his dog following behind him, “Don’t do anything else for me, please. I can’t stand it anymore.”

You stand there, staring at his back as he turns on the water and puts his knuckles under the running tap, “Well, at least you’re being honest.” you mutter, turning to the door and locking it back up.

He turns the tap off and you look at him again, watching him shake his head.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” he walks to the kitchen table and sits down, rubbing his temples, “I can’t stand the idea of you continuing to help me after what I’ve put you through. I don’t want you to, I don’t deserve it.”

In any other scenario, you’d argue, but right now you’re tired of it. You don’t want to defend your actions anymore; it’s time for him to defend his. You sit down across from him, trying to figure out what exactly you want to ask. Fitz suddenly appears on the table, curling up in front of you as if for moral support. You smile softly, reaching forward to pet him.

“I’m sorry for leaving my dog here,” John says quietly, and you look back up to see that he’s scratching behind the dog’s ears.

“Don’t be, he’s lovely.”

John looks up at you, pulling his hand away from the dog and placing it on the table. Your eyes fall to his knuckles, peering worriedly at the bruises forming.

“What happened to your hand?” you ask, finally deciding on your first question.

You meet John’s eyes and he keeps eye contact as he swallows, “Honest answer?”

You nod, “Honest answer.”

He takes a steadying breath, closing his eyes for a few seconds before opening them again.

“I punched a member of the Russian mafia.” he says, voice quiet but straightforward, and he swallows again, waiting for you to respond.

You stare at him, blinking a few times and trying to wrap your mind around his words. You’d considered the idea that John might be in the mafia, but it had gone to the bottom of your list, and you certainly hadn’t thought specifically of the  _Russian_  mafia. You didn’t even know that was a real thing.

“The Russian mafia.” you repeat slowly, brow furrowing.

“Yes.”

“…Why?”

He sighs, bringing his good hand up to rub his face as he attempts to figure out how to word his response. “That man,” he says eventually, bringing his hand back down and looking into your eyes as he speaks, “The one who approached you earlier? He’s been keeping tabs on me for a while, they all have. Usually it doesn’t bother me, I’ve been aware of it for months now,” he licks his lips, taking a breath, “But coming here? It crossed the line. You’re not involved and I don’t want you involved.”

You slowly nod, taking in everything he’s saying, “So…you punched him.”

“I punched him,” he shrugs, leaning forward on his elbows, “It was a warning. He won’t be coming here anymore.” His eyes pierce yours, practically peering into your soul, “You’re safe.” he says it firmly, with a sincerity and finality that you fully believe.

“Okay,” you say softly, your anger beginning to ebb away with every word out of John’s mouth. You feel relieved to finally have some answers, and you’re ready to know more, “So you’re… in the Russian mafia?”

He grimaces, calculating his answer, “No. Well, I was…in a way. I was more like an associate, I worked for them,” he swallows, shaking his head, “But that was a long time ago. They don’t trust me anymore.”

You nod, then bite your lip, “So…what is it you do? Why would they – uh – why would they have you working for them in the first place?” You know the answer, you’re sure you do, but you want to hear him say it.

John inhales deeply, a crease forming between his eyebrows. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again, shaking his head.

“It’s okay, John. Take your time.”

He looks at you, brown eyes deep and lost. He breathes in again shakily, and you see his eyes become watery as he whispers, “I’m scared to tell you.”

As if by its own accord, your hand reaches across the table to take his in yours, being careful not to touch his knuckles, “Don’t be,” you breathe, feeling the tears returning to your eyes, “John, whatever it is, I can handle it. And I’m not going to judge you for it.”

He laughs without humor, a tear spilling down his cheek which he quickly brushes away, “It’s easy to say that when you don’t know what it is.”

You nod, understanding completely, “I get that, I do. But John…I think I already know what you do,” you stroke your finger along the palm of his hand, staring earnestly into his eyes, “And it’s okay. It really is, I promise.”

John stares at you, a small smile appearing on his face as his eyes shine with tears, “You really are an angel.”

Shaking your head, you lean toward him and bring his hand up to your mouth, pressing feather-light kisses to his injured knuckles. When you pull away he’s wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, sniffling and clearly trying not to break. You grab your chair and drag it over to the other side of the table so you can be closer to him.

“How about this?” you say, taking both of his hands in yours and smiling softly at him, “You ask me a random question, and then I’ll ask you the same question, okay? We don’t have to start with the hard ones.”

He nods slowly, “Okay.”

“You start. Something easy.”

He takes a deep breath, “Something easy,” he repeats, “Okay…what’s your favorite color?”

You laugh but play along, “Green. But it changes, I like blue too. What’s yours?”

“Wow, blue and green for me too,” he smiles, laughing to himself.

You feel your heart flutter, “My turn now. Favorite movie?”

He bites his lip, deliberating, “Uhh…” he trails off, brow furrowing, “Thought you said you were saving the hard ones ‘til the end.”

You laugh, “Come on, I’m sure you can think of one.”

He thinks for a few more seconds, then nods to himself, “Rear Window, I guess? I don’t know if it’s my favorite, but…”

“No, that’s good! I love that movie,” you move closer to him so your knees are touching, still smiling at him encouragingly.

“Yours?”

“Goonies. A classic.”

He laughs, “I haven’t seen that in a while.”

“We’ll have to watch it together,” you stroke the back of his hand with your thumb and he leans forward to press his forehead against yours, “Your turn.” you murmur.

“Um…” he sighs, trying to think, “What do you like to do in your spare time?”

“Sleep.” you reply, half joking. He laughs and you grin, “Uh…read, I guess? And binge-watch TV with Fitz,” you bite your lip, “I knit sometimes.”

John smiles at you, soft and gorgeous, “That’s adorable.”

You feel yourself blush, “Now you answer.”

He laughs a little sheepishly, “I can one-up the knitting thing, I think.” You raise an eyebrow, “I learned how to, uh, bind books? A while back? So…I do that.”

“Wait, like… put books together? From scratch?”

He nods, “More like restore them, but yeah, pretty much,” he smiles at your surprised expression, “It’s actually pretty relaxing. It gets me out of my own head which is always a good thing.”

Learning these things about John is softening your anger, though still not melting it entirely away. But seeing him like this, so vulnerable and open with you, you really understand now why you’ve fallen so hard for him in such an unbelievably short amount of time. His vulnerability is what had done it; when you’d stitched him up that first night and consequently helped him through last night’s mess… you’d both connected to each other in ways that you’d never felt with another person before, not even your patients at the hospital. It suddenly feels like that again, electricity running through the two of you as you both sit in your kitchen with your foreheads pressed together.

“That first night…” you whisper, nose brushing against his, “When I found you…”

John’s lips part, slightly taken aback by the start of your much more serious question. You squeeze his hands gently again to reassure him, closing your eyes and breathing him in.

“What happened?” you ask quietly, opening your eyes again to peer into his.

He takes a deep breath, slowly nodding, “I got into a situation I thought I could handle,” he says softly, eyes downcast, “There were more…people than I anticipated. I was ambushed,” he licks his lips nervously, “I realized I wouldn’t get out of there alive, so I ran.”

“…And ended up at my apartment.”

He nods, “My legs started giving out and I saw the bushes as my only option. I was only gonna stay there until I got my strength back…but my injuries were worse than I thought, and I passed out,” his eyes meet yours again, and a small smile appears on his face, “And then you found me.”

You smile back, letting go of one of his hands to reach up and cradle his face, “I found you.” you whisper.

He shakily inhales, closing his eyes. You know it’s coming, the answer you’ve wanted since the start. Your thumb strokes his cheek comfortingly as you wait for him to muster the courage to say the words, “Y/N…I know you want to know everything. And I want to tell you, I do,” he swallows, “But…are you sure? Are you positive you can handle it?” he opens his eyes again, looking at you with intensity, “Because I’m so scared that the second I say it you’re never gonna want to speak to me again.”

You bring your other hand up to touch his other cheek, holding his head in your hands. “John, I promise you that I’m not going anywhere. No matter what,” you trace the scars on his face with your thumbs, staring into his eyes with determination “I trust you.”

He nods slowly, taking one last deep breath. You both sit in silence for a few more seconds, and then –

“I’m an assassin.”

Your hands don’t drop from his face, but the words send a shiver down your spine that you can’t explain, and your heart begins to pump faster in your chest. He stares at you, waiting for you to say something as you attempt to process what he’s just said.

“Well, I was right,” is the only thing you can manage to say, and he looks at you incredulously.

_“You already guessed it?”_

Unconsciously, you feel yourself giggle, even though now is so  _not_  the time to be laughing. You suppose it’s the shock of finally having your suspicions confirmed, the weight of the truth slowly falling off your shoulders and turning into something else entirely.

_An assassin. He’s an assassin. John Wick is an assassin. The man you took a shower with earlier is an assassin. The man who had his mouth on your vagina less than 12 hours ago is an assassin._

The giggling doesn’t stop, and you just nod, trying to force your smile away, “John, I am so sorry,” you say shaking your head, “I don’t know why I’m laughing, this is so inappropriate.”

In response, John just laughs a little shakily, expression more than a little confused, “It’s okay, it’s – uh – better than you crying or screaming or something.”

That just makes you laugh harder, and you drop your hands from his face to cover your mouth, eyes wide, “Give me a second,” you say, hands muffling your voice, “I’m so sorry, oh my god. I’m taking this seriously, I promise.”

He raises an eyebrow, and you’re incredibly relieved to see a smile slowly begin to spread on his face as he watches you try to hold it together. You have no fucking clue why you’re laughing so much; maybe it was the look on his face when he realized you’d already guessed it, or maybe it’s just the ridiculousness of this entire situation _. An assassin_. It sounds so…unrealistic. You know he’s telling the truth but now that it’s finally out there, it just feels so surreal.  _How is this my life?_

“Sorry, I just…” your laughing is fading as you sit there with your hands over your mouth and peer at him with intrigue, “You…god, how do I word this?” you shake your head, “You’re – uh – not subtle.”

He stares at you, mouth opening and closing again, “I – what?”

Your hands drop from your mouth and you place both of them on his waist, leaning forward to press your forehead to his once more, “John, you showed up at my house with  _stab wounds_  and a  _bullet_ in your leg,” you gesture toward his thigh, “You had  _guns_. And after I stole that shit from the hospital you vanished for a few hours only to come back and tell me you’d ‘taken care of it’. You do realize that none of those things point to a light and fluffy profession, right?”

“Well, I…” he doesn’t seem to know how to respond, taken aback by your reaction as he searches for the words, “God, you’re right.” He looks at you, shaking his head, “I guess I wanted you to be oblivious so bad that it made me oblivious,” he grimaces, “How the hell did that happen?”

You laugh lightly, “The point is…I’m not shocked. And I’m not hurt or scared or any of the things you probably thought I would be,” you take his hand again, “You have no idea how happy I am that you’re telling me this.”

 “Happy.” he repeats, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, John,” you smile, squeezing his hand, “I wanted to know, and now I know,” you shrug, “And obviously I have more questions – lots of them, but the fact is: you finally told me. And that’s truly all I could have asked for.”

He stares at you for a few seconds, eyes soft and safe. They fall to your lips and you swallow, goosebumps raising on your skin.

“You’re so good to me,” he breathes, nose brushing against yours, “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do.” you whisper, and then his lips are on yours.

The kiss is passionate, without a doubt, but it’s more from his end than yours. You hate to bring it up, especially after such a progressive heart-to-heart, but your feelings are still pretty hurt from what John had done earlier. The sting of his exit, leaving you standing in your kitchen in lingerie you’d picked out specifically for him, feeling incredibly distressed and vulnerable…it hasn’t just disappeared after this conversation. Slowly, and quite hesitantly, you pull away from him. He looks at you as you stand up, lips wet and parted and beautiful. You have no idea how you’re managing to step away.

“I’m sorry,” you say, pushing your chair into the table and biting your lip, “I – uh – I can’t. I’m sorry.”

He looks up at you in confusion, and you can see the immediate hurt appear in his eyes.

“It’s not because you’re an assassin,” you say quickly, and the word sounds strange coming out of your mouth, suddenly much more real, “I promise. It’s just…” you sigh, running a hand through your hair, “John, you really hurt me. When you left earlier. That was really shitty.”

He stands immediately, reaching forward to take your hands in his, “I know,” he says earnestly, “I was such an asshole, I can’t believe I did that,” he grimaces, “Well…I can believe it, actually. I already said that I don’t think before I act sometimes.”

You nod, “I know, and I believe that you’ll try and fix that for me, I do,” you bite your lip, “But I can’t…I can’t just pick up where we left off. Not tonight.”

“I understand,” he says, slowly releasing your hands, “I’m sorry, I truly am.” he looks down at the dog who’s currently fast asleep on the floor, “I’ll grab this guy and we’ll head out.”

You immediately reach out and touch his arm, shaking your head, “No, don’t go.”

He looks down at your hand, then back at your face, expression confused. You take a step toward him, sheepishly peering up into his eyes.

“I want you to stay,” you say softly, like it’s a secret, “Please.”

“But you said—”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I want you to leave,” you pull your hand back, eyes widening, “Unless you…want to?”

He shakes his head instantly, taking your hand, “No, I want to stay with you,” he cups your face and looks down at you softly, “Always.” He whispers.

You reach for his other hand and pull him gently toward you, “Well, come on. Let’s go to bed.”

He raises an eyebrow as you lead him to your bedroom, leaving your pets asleep in the kitchen. You bring him inside and shut the door, walking over to your night stand and turning on the light. The blankets on your bed are slightly ruffled from lying on top of them earlier, and you spot John’s jacket on the floor, taking a deep breath as you push away the negative feelings that arise at the sight of it.

John stands by the door, clearly hesitant to go any further, “You want me to sleep in your bed with you?” he asks quietly.

You look at him and nod, smiling softly, “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please feel free to like/reblog this chapter on tumblr: [chapter 11](https://keanubot.tumblr.com/post/179166025465/catastrophe-reigns-john-wickreader-chapter-11)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** 6.2k
> 
> **warnings:** VERY nsfw. lotsa smut in this one folks

You don’t feel strange at all about asking John to sleep with you; despite still feeling bitter about what had happened earlier, you can’t imagine anything else you’d rather do right now than lie down with him and just  _breathe_. After everything that’s happened, you don’t think it’s a terribly outlandish request.

John takes a few steps toward you, “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

You pull back the blankets and unzip your hoodie, hanging it on the hook on your closet door. Feeling John’s eyes on you, you pull down your sweatpants, leaving you in your underwear and a tank top. You have to admit, you feel a bit bad for torturing him like this, but you can’t help it. You want him to get a good look at what he’s not getting tonight.

“Can I…?” he asks, gesturing to his pants, and you nod.

Keeping his eyes on you, he reaches for his zipper and undoes his jeans, pulling them down and revealing a pair of black boxer briefs.  _Fuck._ He tugs off his shirt, the dark bruise across his abdomen incredibly prominent in the low light. You frown at the sight of it, then realize you can finally get answers.

“So how exactly did you get that?” you ask, and he freezes.

Slowly, he tosses his shirt to the floor and walks toward you, looking down at the bruise, “Got stomped on,” he says, clenching his jaw, “There were three of them, I think.”

Your eyes widen, and you unconsciously reach out to touch his bare skin lightly, tracing your finger along the dark purple shape, “ _Stomped?_ ”

He shrugs, “More or less. I was really surprised when you told me my ribs weren’t broken.”

Your hand continues to move along the bruise, brow furrowed, “Why would somebody do that to you?”

He reaches up and takes your hand, slowly pulling it away from the bruise and bringing it up to his lips. He presses a gentle kiss to the back of it, peering down at you, “Because I’m a bad man.” he says quietly, and you snort.

“No, but really. What did you do to them? What made them want to hurt you? Who even are they?”

Laughing lightly, he drops your hand and walks to the other side of the bed, pulling back his side of the blankets, “We should get in bed before I start answering all that, I don’t know if my legs have it in them to stand for that long.”

At his words, you feel yourself go into nurse mode, tucking your hair behind your ear and taking a step toward the bed, “You’re taking your antibiotics, right? Do you need me to grab them?”

He puts a hand up, shaking his head, “I took them, don’t worry.”

You nod and climb into bed, pulling the blankets over you as you find yourself unable to stop from smiling when John gets in beside you. It feels so good to just…exist with him in the same space. You feel his arm brush against yours as he settles in and you reach over and turn off the light, plunging the room into darkness. You roll over on your side to face him, and he’s lying on his back with his head tilted, watching you in the darkness.

“So,” you whisper for some reason, as if with the lights off there’s suddenly a need to be quieter, “Answers?”

You see him smile in the darkness, and he takes a deep breath before starting. “Well…okay, the first thing you need to understand about the assassin world is that I don’t just…randomly go out and assassinate people,” he grimaces at the word, clearly hoping he’s not making you uncomfortable by using it, “I get specifically hired for a job by someone or I see a contract I’m interested in and apply for it.”

“…Apply for it,” you repeat, “Like a job interview or something?”

He laughs, grinning beautifully at you, “No, not really. More like… they see my name, they know my rank, and they decide I’m best for the job.”

“And what’s your rank?”

“I’m…” You raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. He bites his lip, mulling the words over before stating, “I’m one of the best.”

“…At killing people?”

His brow furrows, “Does that scare you?”

You shake your head, twisting your lips in thought, “It doesn’t. I mean, it probably should, but it doesn’t.” you look at him, your eyes adjusting to the darkness as his face becomes more visible, “So, that first night… you got hired to kill somebody and then you got ambushed by a bunch of people trying to stop you.”

“Yeah, that sums it up.”

“So, what happened last night? You went back?”

He nods, “I had to finish the job. I knew what I was expecting this time, though. I was prepared.”

“But they still  _stomped_  on you.”

He shrugs, turning his head to look at the ceiling, “I’ve had worse things happen to me,” he says thoughtfully, “Much worse.”

You want to ask, but you know it’s not your place. The questions you’ve asked John so far only scratch the surface of who he is, what he’s been through, and he doesn’t owe you what’s beneath it. Those much more personal questions can wait until a later date. Instead, you continue on the same path of questioning, keeping it simple.

“So, who was it? That you were hired to kill?” you pause, taking a small breath before asking, “And did you…did you kill them?”

“Head of a drug cartel,” he says, tilting his head to look at you again, “He was…causing problems for the man who hired me.” He swallows, “Yes, I killed him.”

You let the words sink in, expecting to feel maybe even an  _ounce_  of fear. But you don’t. God, there must be something wrong with you, right? Any normal person would be afraid right now, wouldn’t even want to have anything to do with John. But you’re just…not. If anything, his openness and honesty is just making you feel closer to him, your love for him growing with every word out of his mouth.

_Yeah, there’s probably something wrong with you._

“But all these people you kill…” you trail off, looking for the words, “They’re…they’re all part of this kind of… _underworld_ , right? They know what they’re getting into, they know they could be getting killed at any time.”

He licks his lips, contemplating your words, “…Yes. In a way. No one is innocent, if that’s what you’re getting at,” he looks at you with sincerity in his eyes, so intense you can see it in the darkness, “I never kill innocents. Ever.”

“I knew that.” you whisper, and his brow furrows.

“How?”

You smile softly, and you reach toward him, pressing your hand to the side of his face, “I don’t know… I just did.”

He stares at you, then slowly turns his face so he can kiss the palm of your hand, bringing his own up to hold it there. His scruff tickles your skin as he presses kisses back and forth. It’s such a gentle and loving act, and it makes you feel warm all over, skin tingling.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you.” he murmurs against your hand.

You laugh softly, “You know, it’s only been a little over a week,” you shake your head in awe, “And we’ve only actually been with each other about two and a half days total.”

He pulls his mouth away, smiling at you, “I know, but it doesn’t feel that way does it?”

You smile back, biting your lip, “No…it doesn’t.”

He pushes a few strands of hair behind your ear, gazing into your eyes, “I feel like I’ve known you for so long. I can’t explain it,” he whispers, eyes soft, “I care so much about you.”

God, he’s really making it hard not to jump his bones. You have to admit, your animosity has practically completely dissolved at this point. Would it really be so bad to indulge in what you both want? Your pride is getting in the way, as usual. You’re still deliberating on what to do as John pulls his hand away from you and leans back against the pillows.

“We should probably sleep,” he says quietly, though he doesn’t sound tired, “It’s late.”

You nod, swallowing and rolling onto your back, “Yeah.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He whispers, and his hand finds yours between the two of you. He squeezes it gently, warm and comforting.

“Goodnight, John.”

You lie there for a few moments, no sound in the room other than both you and John’s breathing. He doesn’t release your hand, and it’s  _incredibly_  distracting, the feeling of his skin against yours making your skin burn. You’re beyond aware of how close you are to each other on the bed, your bare thigh brushing lightly against his skin with every breath. He’s so large beside you, taking up most of the bed, and the knowledge that he’s only in those deliciously hot boxer briefs sends another ache to your underwear.

And knowing him now…knowing what he is, knowing that he’s opened up to you and finally feels comfortable enough to tell you things…everything has changed. And, if it’s even possible, you find yourself wanting him even more than you had earlier.

A few more minutes pass, and you discreetly turn your head to look at John in the darkness. He’s also staring at the ceiling, seemingly lost in thought. His hair is long and soft against the pillow, the angle at which he’s lying defining his jawline immensely beneath his thick scruff. Your eyes scan down to his bare chest, blankets falling just below his nipples. He’s so gorgeous, it’s hard to believe someone so attractive is actually in your bed.

He’s in your bed. Right now.

_Fuck it._

You roll over and crawl on top of him, positioning your legs on either side of him as you sit directly on his crotch. He inhales sharply, looking up at you in surprise as his hands come up and grip your waist.

“I thought—”

You put your finger to his lips to silence him, and without speaking you slowly begin to grind down against his cock, biting your lip and reveling in how he watches you. He helps you move with his hands, pushing you back and forth against him through your panties as you feel him get harder and harder.

“I want you,” you finally whisper, voice shaky as you reach down and pull your underwear to the side, pushing your bare pussy against his cock. You moan, his boxers warm and wet on your skin, the long shape of his cock fitting perfectly between your folds. “I want you inside me.”

He groans, his hands moving from your waist to your ass and squeezing as he drags you lazily back and forth, “Baby…” he breathes, and you _love_  that he calls you baby in moments like this. He can tell you enjoy it and he smirks, sitting up so you’re sitting in his lap with your legs wrapped around his waist. He reaches down and helps you tug your panties off completely, then quickly slides his finger inside of you, making you jolt in his lap.

“John,” you moan, gripping his shoulders as he adds a second finger and pumps them steadily in and out; this sensation is beyond familiar at this point, and you’re ready for something much bigger, “I want  _you_ ,” you repeat, and you bring your hand down to grab his cock through his underwear, “Please.”

Suddenly, you find yourself being flipped over onto your back, John hovering above you. You can’t really see him at this angle, the room too dark, “Turn the light on,” you whisper, and he reaches over and tugs on the cord, flooding the room with low light. Your lips part as you peer up at him, overwhelmed by how gorgeous he is as he places his hands on either side of you and leans down to kiss you.

You kiss him back, hands tangling in his hair as he reaches down to grip the bottom of your tank top and pull it over your head, leaving you completely naked. He pulls back to look at you, eyes dark as they scan up and down your body, “God, you’re beautiful,” he breathes, “So fucking beautiful.” Then his lips are at your neck, sucking and licking at your skin. Your hands travel down to his underwear and you try to tug them down, feeling the curve of his ass beneath your fingers.

“Let me do that.” he says with a shaky laugh, sensing your struggle. He pulls back from you and rolls off the bed, standing to the side as he slips his thumbs under the waistband and pushes them down his legs. You’ve already seen his cock, but it doesn’t stop you from moaning at the size of it, immediately slipping off the bed to sit on the edge and wrap your hand around him. He moans, looking down at you as you stroke him.

Unable to stop yourself, you lean your head down and take him in your mouth, humming around him as his hands come up to grip your hair, “Fuck,” he breathes, and you peer up at him as you move your head back and forth, loving the weight of his cock on your tongue. He’s so big that you can barely fit the whole thing in your mouth, feeling spit sliding down your chin as you push forward and attempt to engulf him fully. “Baby,” he moans, brow furrowing, “It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

You pull off, breathing heavily as you start to stroke him again, “I can’t anyway,” you say with a breathy laugh, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, “You’re too big.”

His face reddens at your words, and he groans when you lean forward to suck on the head of his cock, tongue swirling back and forth. He reaches down to tuck your hair behind your ears, watching with hungry eyes as you bring your hand up again to stroke him as you suck. You pull off again, looking up at him with lidded eyes, “Tastes good.” you breathe, and that’s all he can take.

“Come here.” he says, voice rough as he kneels on the bed and moves you so you’re lying back against the pillows. He kisses you passionately, lips urgent against yours as he positions himself above you. You feel the wet head of his cock on your inner thigh and you shiver underneath him, hands coming up to grip his back.

His hand travels down to your pussy and he begins to rub your clit, making you shake, “Please,” you moan, toes curling, “John, fuck me, please.”

You can feel him smiling against you as he kisses down your chest and wraps his lips around one of your nipples, sucking gently as he continues to rotate his thumb on your clit. Your hand comes up to his hair, holding him there and feeling yourself become wetter by the second as his tongue rolls your nipple back and forth in his mouth. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and the heavy weight of his cock is suddenly on your pelvic bone, inches away from where you need it to be.

John pulls off your nipple and looks down to where his cock sits, the head resting on your lower stomach, “Fuck,” he hisses, watching as he twitches against your warm skin, “Condom.”

“Drawer.” You respond immediately, and he reaches over and tugs it open.

When he pulls his hand out, he’s holding your vibrator.

“John,” you say quickly, hands coming up to cover your face, “Put it back, I swear to god.”

He laughs, eyes bright, “Do you use this a lot?”

You grimace, still covering your face, “…Yeah.”

He smirks and looks at it, rotating it in his hand, “So, it just vibrates, right? Or do you put it inside?”

Laughing, you pull your hands down and shake your head, “John, it’s basically a fucking egg. You really think I’m gonna put an egg inside me?” you snort at your own words, pushing your hair behind your ear and sitting up slightly, “No, it just vibrates. Feels amazing.” You watch his face, reveling in how his eyes go dark.

“What do you think about?”

You lick your lips, slowly reaching down and running your index finger along your pussy, John watching your every move, “Lately, I just think about you.”

He stares at your hand, watches as you gently spread yourself open and push two fingers inside. His eyes trail back up to meet yours and you whimper, pushing your fingers as deep as they’ll go.

“And what am I doing?” he breathes, placing the vibrator back in the drawer and rummaging around without bothering to look, eyes still glued to yours. “When you think about me, what am I doing?”

You bite your lip, pulling your fingers out and then pushing them back in again, moaning softly, “You’re fucking me,” you breathe, voice shaky, “Your cock is inside me and you’re fucking me all over my apartment.”

His cock twitches again as his hand comes out of the drawer, condom in hand, “Lie back for me.” he says, voice wrecked with arousal.

You do as you’re told, watching as he brings the condom to his mouth to rip it open. Before he does it however, he freezes, staring at the label. He looks at it for a few seconds, and your brow furrows, “What’s wrong?”

He looks at you, then back at the condom, then back at you, “Uh…I don’t know how to say this.”

“Say it.”

He bites his lip, looking sheepish, “This is too small.”

“What?!” you sit up, practically knocking him off you as you grab the condom from him and look down at it; you’d thought of this when you’d found the box, but you’d hoped against hope that it wouldn’t be true. “Fuck,” you groan, the disappointment hitting you, “I’m not on birth control.”

He looks a bit taken aback at what you’re insinuating, that if you were on birth control you’d let him come inside you. Coming to his senses, he takes the condom back from you and lays it on the night stand, “It’s okay, don’t panic,” he chuckles, “I brought one.”

You raise an eyebrow, “You did?”

He gets off the bed and quickly grabs his jeans off the floor, pulling his wallet out of the pocket and tugging a condom out. Turning back to you, he waves it and you swallow when you see that it’s a magnum.  _Congratu-fucking-lations_ , you think to yourself, lying back on the bed and feeling your entire body shiver as you watch him walk towards you, ripping the condom open with his teeth as he goes.

“I told you I wasn’t done with you.” He murmurs, kneeling on the bed and pulling the condom out of the package.

You bite your lip, looking up at him from under your lashes, “Can I…” he looks at you, raising an eyebrow, “Can I put it on?”

He swallows and immediately hands it to you, making you smirk. You sit up excitedly, reaching down and sliding the condom down his cock slowly, watching it bob against your hand.  _God, is he even gonna fit?_  He’s not giant, but he’s big enough to need a magnum…and you haven’t had sex in over a year.

“You’re gonna have to take it easy with me,” you say, looking up at his face and stroking him a few times as he watches you, “Go slow.”

“Of course,” he says, eyes suddenly soft, “Don’t worry.”

You smile at him, lying back on the bed and biting your lip as he gets on top and positions himself above you. You feel his cock press against your entrance and your whole body shivers, your hands coming up to touch his back as he leans down and kisses you softly. His scruff brushes tenderly against your skin, and you close your eyes and kiss him back, whimpering against his lips as you feel the head slip inside you.

His hand comes up to touch the side of your face as he slowly slips inside, and he pulls away from your lips when you make a slightly pained noise, “Are you okay?” he asks, concerned.

“Yeah,” you reply shakily, nodding up at him reassuringly, “You’re really big, that’s all,” you move your hips a bit, trying to get used to the sensation of having him inside you, “And I haven’t had sex in a while.”

“Do you want to stop?”

You shake your head immediately, eyes widening, “Oh my god, no,” you grip his back again, licking your lips, “Keep going, I just need a few minutes to get used to it.”

He kisses you softly, bringing his hands down to your hips and holding you firmly as he pushes himself further inside you. Your nails dig lightly into his back, eyes shut tight as he bottoms out and stills, “Feel okay?” he breathes.

“God, yes,” you whimper, and your hands drop from his back to cover your face, already overwhelmed, “Fuck, you’re huge.”

He laughs above you, reaching up to take your hands off your face, “Hey, look at me,” he pries them away and you look up at him, biting down hard on your lip, “I wanna see your face.” He  _very_  slowly pulls out of you, then pushes back in even slower, and you feel your eyes roll back.

“John,” you moan, gripping the sheets, “Oh my god.”

“How’s that feel?” he murmurs, holding your hips and slowly pulling out of you again.

You moan in response and he smiles, starting a slow rhythm as he thrusts, his eyes never leaving your face. The fact that he’s watching you makes you feel even more vulnerable than you already do, and you bring his head down to kiss him, fingers tangling in his hair. You moan against his lips every time he goes deep, pulling gently on his hair and loving the feeling of being underneath him.

He slowly begins to pick up speed, and you notice that his concern of hurting you has faded, both of you comfortable in your rhythm and fully able to enjoy yourselves as he pulls away from your face and looks down at you with his brow furrowed, mouth open slightly as he fucks you into the mattress.

“God,” he breathes, his hands coming up from your hips to cup your breasts, “You feel so good.”

“Yeah?” you reply shakily as he buries his cock inside of you over and over, impossibly deep every single time.

In response, he fucks into you particularly hard, skin slapping against yours. He grabs your waist with one hand and presses the other to your lower back, picking you up on the bed slightly to angle his cock as deep as possible. You start to whimper pitifully, gripping his arms – being careful, of course, to avoid his stab wounds, “Fuck.” you moan, closing your eyes. He picks you up further, pulling you forward until you’re flush against his chest.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs in your ear, hands holding your hips and moving you up and down on his cock, fast and hard. It feels so fucking good that you can barely get any words out, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his neck. You suck gently on his skin, and he lets out a low moan as he bounces you up and down.

You pull back from his neck and turn your head slightly, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror on the door of your closet. Your eyes immediately fall to where John’s cock is easing in and out, and you watch with your mouth open as you incredulously wonder how the hell something so big is fitting so perfectly inside of you. It’s hypnotic to look at, and you feel yourself becoming impossibly wetter when your eyes scan back up to your reflections, watching the way you can’t keep your mouth closed, the way John clenches his jaw with every thrust.

It’s definitely hot, but there’s something missing…something  _more_.

You turn back to him, your eyes lidded as you look at his face and whimper at the way he’s guiding you up and down, fingers pressed into your hips, probably leaving marks, “John,” you whimper, pressing your forehead against his. “I…”

“What do you need?” he murmurs, slowing his movements until you’re both just sitting still, his cock buried deep inside of you. You lean in and kiss him, soft and slow, and his hands come up to cradle your face as you both catch your breaths.

“You,” you breathe, body shaking in his arms, “Need you.”

“You have me,” he whispers in your ear, slowly pulling out of you and pushing back in again, holding you firmly against his chest, “Feel that? That’s all for you.”

You moan softly and lean in to kiss him again, tongue darting out to trace his lips as you pull away, “I want…” you whimper when he picks you up and slides you back down on him again, gripping his arms for support.

“Tell me.”

You exhale shakily, “Can you get on top of me again?” you whisper, slightly shy, “I know it’s…vanilla, or whatever, but—"

He presses a finger to your lips, his beautiful brown eyes peering deeply into yours, “Shh,” he breathes, “Lie back.”

He doesn’t pull out of you, just moves with you as you fall back on the sheets, his weight on top of you as he brings his hands down and slowly opens your legs. You bite your lip, vulnerability rising as he watches where you’re joined, pulling out to gently trail the head of his cock back and forth along your folds. You shake under his touch, letting out several quiet whimpers that make him groan and push himself back inside you.

“Fuck,” he whispers, shaking his head in awe, “You’re so gorgeous.”

You feel yourself blush and he leans down to entwine his hands with yours, holding you in place and putting his mouth on yours as he starts to fuck you again. You can barely make any noise against his lips, the only sounds in the room being the obscene slapping of his skin against yours and the squeaking of your mattress as he fucks you into it. You wrap your legs around him and pull him even closer, allowing his cock to sink as deep as possible into you and hit your g-spot, making you pull away from his mouth to let out an incredibly loud moan.

“Right there, huh?” he asks, voice rough and deep, making a point of fucking into you as hard as possible in order to hit your g-spot again.

You nod wildly, a variety of desperate sounds escaping your lips as you feel your eyes roll back. Feeling embarrassed at how you’re responding to him, your hands come up from underneath his to cover your face again. He brings one of his hands up to still your movements, holding your face steady as he continues to relentlessly pound into you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Hey,” he whispers, dark eyes softening, “Why do you keep trying to hide from me?” his brow furrows in concentration as he fucks you, small grunts leaving his mouth with every thrust.

It takes you a few seconds to be able to respond, completely lost in the feeling of being so connected to John. You’re finally able to shakily get out, “I’m being too loud.”

At your words, John slows his movements, letting go of your face and pulling back slightly to bring his hands down to your hips. His thumbs splay across your stomach, squeezing your small frame gently beneath his much bigger one as he comes to a full stop.

“You’re not being too loud,” he says softly, breathing heavily as his thumbs stroke your skin, “You’re perfect.”

“You just feel so good,” you swallow, also trying to catch your breath, “I can’t help it.”

“I don’t want you to help it.” he says with a light laugh, his eyes trailing down to where you’re joined. He looks back up at you again, raising an eyebrow before slowly reaching his thumb over to press against your clit.

You buck up immediately, gasping at his touch, “John,” you whimper, eyes scanning down and watching as he begins to quickly rotate it, applying the perfect amount of pressure, “Fuck, please.”

“Be loud, baby,” he says with a smile, pulling his cock out of you and thrusting it back in again, returning to his pounding rhythm, “I wanna hear how good it feels.”

“Fuck,” you moan, lips parting as you grip his back again and pull him back down to you, “Feels so good, feels so fucking good.”

He groans, kissing you hard as you wrap your legs around him again to make him go deep. His thumb doesn’t stop rubbing your clit, your whole body completely taken over by his touches. You can feel your orgasm rising, building and building until you’re so close to the edge that you have to pull away from John’s mouth to shakily whimper, “I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah?” he breathes, thumb unrelenting as he fucks you harder and harder, “You gonna come for me, angel?”

The pet name makes you keen beneath him and you lick your lips, nodding, “Yes, yes, fuck,” you look up at him, eyes wide with desperation, “Fuck me ‘til I come, please, John, please.”

He looks down at you, eyes wild as he erratically thrusts in and out of you, the sounds of your body bouncing up and down on the mattress filling the room, “Come with me, baby, please,” he says breathlessly, “Come on my cock.”

His words send you over the edge and you moan so loud it’s practically a scream, the headboard of your bed banging against the wall as he mercilessly continues to fuck you. You do exactly as he asked, coming on his cock and squeezing so tightly around him that you feel him twitch inside you. Seconds later, he’s staring directly into your eyes as his jaw drops and numerous low groans escape him as he comes. His cock continues to twitch, and you find yourself wishing he wasn’t wearing a condom so you could feel him spilling inside you.

He collapses on top of you, both of you breathing heavily as you lay there and hold each other. Your heart feels full, mind buzzing with happiness as you card your fingers through his hair and wait for him to speak. Slowly, he pulls back to look at you, eyes bright and sated. He doesn’t say anything, just grins and leans down to press a kiss to your collarbone, hair tickling your skin.

You lie there in silence for a few more moments, and then John slowly pulls out of you, making you let out a quiet moan at the oversensitivity. After kissing you softly, he climbs off the bed and walks naked to your bedroom door, taking off the condom as he goes, “I’ll be right back,” he says, throwing you another beautiful smile before leaving to head to the bathroom.

You stare at your ceiling, a smile plastered to your face as you let the afterglow warm your body, stretching your limbs out as best you can despite feeling like jelly. You know you’ll ache in the morning but you’re not phased at all by the idea of it, loving the notion that you’ll be aching because of John.

Your cheeks are hot, and you sit up on the bed to grab the glass of water by your night stand, taking a few sips to rehydrate. John comes back in the room, wet cloth in hand as he walks over to the bed and waves it in front of you, “May I?”

You nod, smiling as he sits on the edge of the bed and brings the cloth down to your legs, carefully wiping your inner thighs that are slick with your own wetness. You shiver at the temperature of the cloth, goosebumps raising as he drags it over your pussy and cleans you up. It’s not even a sexual act, more-so tender and loving as he smiles softly at you and finishes up, throwing the cloth into the laundry basket by your closet.

“I’m surprised neither of the animals woke up,” he laughs quietly, climbing over you to lie beside you on the bed, “They’re both still in the kitchen fast asleep.”

“That’s cute,” you reply with a smile, voice slightly hoarse from all the noises you’d been making, “I think they like each other.”

He nods, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, looking at you with a slightly sheepish expression on his face. You raise an eyebrow and he chuckles, reaching over to take your hand in his, “That was amazing,” he says quietly, looking down at your entwined hands. He looks back up at your face, smile faltering slightly, “Was it good for you? I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

You shake your head immediately, smiling widely at him, “John, it was everything I wanted it to be and more,” you laugh at yourself, stroking his bruised knuckles gently with your thumb, “I know, I know, I’m a walking cliché.”

He laughs and brings your hand up to press a kiss to it, closing his eyes. When he opens them you can tell that he’s tired, eyes heavy and lidded as he lets out an adorable and well-timed yawn. You pretend to take out an imaginary notebook, making pretend ticks along the invisible pages.

“Gets sleepy after sex, check.”

He snorts, shaking his head, “I’m sorry, today has just been…long.”

“Yesterday, technically,” you correct with a sly smile, “But, yeah, I know what you mean. I feel like this entire week has just blurred into one, long, complicated day.”

You turn the light off again and settle into bed with John, covering both of you up with the blankets and cuddling into each other. You place your head on his chest, his skin warm, heartbeat a calming melody in your ear.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into the darkness, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, “For everything you’ve done.”

You smile, closing your eyes and nuzzling into him, “Goodnight, John,” you whisper, and you kiss the skin above his nipple in response, soft against your lips, “And you’re welcome.”

At that moment you both hear the sound of claws against the floorboards, and you lift your heads to watch the doorway where John had forgotten to close the door after returning from the bathroom. John’s dog enters the room and jumps onto your bed, quickly curling up at the bottom and peering at you and John with his intelligent brown eyes. You stare at him, a smile slowly spreading across your face.

“He’s very protective, isn’t he?” you say fondly, feeling John’s hands playing with your hair as you both look at his dog.

“He is, he doesn’t like it when I’m away for too long,” he replies, voice sleepy, “He likes to be close to me. To guard me, I guess.”

“And because he loves you.”

John chuckles, “Of course, that too.”

The dog blinks slowly at you, and it’s almost like he’s speaking to you through his eyes:  _Take care of him, please._

You smile knowingly, “A dog fit for a king.”

“Mmhm…that, he is.”

You continue to stare at John’s dog until his eyes eventually close fully and a low snore escapes him. You laugh softly to yourself, remembering what John had said earlier about the dog needing a name. Wracking your brain, you bite your lip and watch the dog fall into a deep sleep, paws twitching every so often as if he’s running in his dream. Just as you’re about to give up and go to sleep, a thought enters your mind and you smile widely.

“Hey, John, speaking of kings, did you know King Louis had a dog? In France, I think it was Louis the ninth or something,” you bite your lip, thinking, “I think his dog was named after a color? Don’t ask me how I know this, we all have those weird bits of trivia stored in our brains for whatever reason.”

John doesn’t respond but you’re not really paying attention, more focused on trying to remember what Louis IX’s dog was named, which is certainly the weirdest thing you’ve ever thought about after having sex with somebody.

“Bleu!” you say, sensing the invisible lightbulb appearing over your head, “That’s right, it was Bleu. What do you think?” you look up at John, and you snort when you realize he’s fast asleep. You don’t know how long he’s been out, but he certainly hadn’t witnessed your moment of brilliance.

You smile, cuddling into him and taking one more glance at his dog before closing your eyes, basking in the knowledge that you can just tell him tomorrow. For once, he isn’t going anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please feel free to like/reblog this chapter on tumblr: [chapter 12](https://keanubot.tumblr.com/post/179298082745/catastrophe-reigns-john-wickreader-chapter-12)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** almost 6k
> 
> **warnings:** nsfw, dirty talk

You wake up with your head on John’s bare chest, his arms wrapped around you and holding you close. With past partners, you always remember waking up on different sides of the bed, gravity or the universe or something or other pulling you apart through the night. But not with John; his heart beats evenly in your ear, chest rising and falling with every breath.

Your hand comes up to comb gently through his chest hair, and you notice that a lot of it is greying, soft beneath your fingertips. You suddenly realize that you have no idea how old John is, and you chastise yourself a little bit for a moment before realizing how much it…thrills you. Obviously, he looks young, you’d thought maybe he was in his 30s, but grey usually points to 40s or 50s, and you find yourself crossing your legs slightly to quench the sudden ache between your legs. You have to admit, knowing John is much older than you is hot as hell.

Gaze falling to the end of the bed, you see John’s dog – possibly now named Bleu – fast asleep, and beside him, curled up in an even smaller ball, is Fitz. Your eyes widen, a smile spreading across your face as you watch you and John’s pets sleeping peacefully beside each other. You feel a warmth spread throughout your body, and you bury your face in John’s chest, grinning against his skin. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so happy in your entire life.

Your movement wakes him up, and he inhales and exhales deeply, breath warm against your forehead. You peer up at him, watching as he blinks his eyes a few times and then brings them down to meet yours.

“Good morning.” you say softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his collarbone, keeping eye contact with him.

“Morning.” he murmurs, bringing his hand up and crooking his finger for you to move upwards. You do so, and he presses a soft kiss to your lips, running his fingers through your hair.

“Mmm.” you hum against his mouth, your hand pressing against his chest as you lick your lips and lean forward for more.

He indulges you, kissing you again for much longer, and you feel him move his hands down to your lower back. He squeezes your ass and you whimper against his lips, your thumb brushing his nipple as you prop yourself up on your elbows and kiss him harder. He lifts you up and places you on top of him, your naked bodies warm and sensitive against each other. He’s hard, and you gently grind yourself against him, moaning softly as he pulls back and peers into your eyes, smiling softly.

“What a way to wake up,” he says with a breathy laugh, squeezing your ass again and furrowing his brow in pleasure when you grind against him again, “Baby…”

You smile, cheeks flushing, “I love when you call me that.”

“Yeah?” he grins and kisses you again, gentle and sweet, “That’s good, I wouldn’t wanna call you something you don’t like.”

Your hands fall to his chest, playing with the hair there and biting your lip, “You have some grey hairs, did you know that?”

He chuckles, and you feel his index finger stroking slowly back and forth against your entrance, making you shiver. It feels good, but there’s a slight burn when he slips it inside, and you wince. He freezes, holding it in place, “Does that hurt?”

You nod slowly, looking sheepish, “A little bit. I think you – uh – kinda did a number on me last night.”

He looks concerned, pulling his finger out and holding onto your ass again, “Fuck, I’m sorry, was I too rough?”

You shake your head, laughing, “No, John, you just have a big dick,” you laugh again when his cheeks redden, and you hold both sides of his face and smile down at him, “But that’s a good thing, seriously. It felt amazing.”

He lets out a soft groan, kneading your ass in his hands and slowly moving you back and forth along the shaft of his cock. You bite down on your lip, burying your face in his neck, “Are you gonna put it inside me?” you whisper.

You feel his finger at your entrance again, trailing back and forth along your folds, “Is it gonna hurt you?”

“A little bit at first…but I’ll go slow.”

He slips his finger slowly inside again, pushing it in and out, “ _You’ll_  go slow?”

“Mmhm,” you pull back and look at him with heavy eyes, a quiet moan escaping your lips when he adds a second finger, “You did all the work last night, now it’s my turn.”

John swallows and places his hand on your lower back, holding you still while he adds a third finger and opens you up to him.

Suddenly you hear a soft meow, and you look to your left to see Fitz walking along the blankets towards the two of you. John yelps, immediately pushing you off him and getting out of bed, covering himself.

“Out, Fitz,” he says, voice sounding hilariously desperate as he gestures toward the door, “Go on.”

You lie there on your back with your hand over your mouth, giggling as John attempts to rid the room of your furry friend. After Fitz just stands there, staring at him, you finally stop laughing to sit up and pull him into your arms.

“Come on, baby, let’s go,” you get off the bed and walk to the living room, placing Fitz on the couch and giving him a few loving pets, “I gotta keep your innocence.”

“Good boy,” you hear behind you, and look to see John ushering his dog out of the room as well, “Go play with Fitz, good dog.”

You snort, walking back to your bedroom and laughing when John looks at you sheepishly.

“Sorry, I just find it… _so_  weird,” he scratches the back of his head, smiling apologetically, “I mean…if you really want to, we can keep them in here but I–”

You press a finger to his lips, reaching your other hand down to grip his cock and slowly stroke him, reveling in the way his mouth pops open, brow furrowing, “Go lie back on the bed,” you whisper, “So you can fuck me again.”

He doesn’t need telling twice, walking back to the bed as you shut the door and suddenly freeze, remembering something vitally important.

“Uh…any chance you brought a second condom?”

He chuckles, and your gaze falls to him, feeling yourself getting wetter at the way his cock is bobbing against his stomach, long and thick with a bead of precum pooling at the tip in anticipation for you, “Wallet.”

You immediately reach for his jeans on the floor and slip your hand into the back pocket, pulling out his wallet. Opening it up, you come face to face with John’s driver’s licence –  _damn, how the hell can someone still look so good on a photo ID?_  – and you can’t help but let your eyes fall to his age, curiosity getting the better of you.

_47…that’s hot._

You grab the condom and drop his wallet, crawling back onto the bed and tearing it open. You don’t waste any time in putting it on him, and before you know it you’re straddling him once more as you carefully grip the base of his cock and hold it still, never breaking eye contact as you slowly slip him inside you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, watching your every move as you close your eyes and inhale deeply, adjusting to his size again and wincing slightly at the dull ache left over from the night before, “You okay?”

You nod, smiling wide, “More than okay.”

He holds your hips as you slowly start to ride him, your hands pressed against his chest as you bite down on your lip and whimper at how good he feels inside you; it’s only the second time but you’re not sure if you’ll ever get used to the feeling of being so full.

“John,” you moan, and you feel the pads of his fingers press deliciously into your skin, his thumbs splayed across your pelvic bone to keep you in place, “God, you’re so fucking big.”

“Does it hurt?”

You shake your head immediately, digging your nails lightly into the skin of his chest as you work yourself up and down, “No, baby, it feels so good.”

His eyes go dark when you call him baby and you can’t help but feel proud of yourself for being able to turn him on so much. Unable to stop yourself, you lean down so your breasts are flush against his chest, pressing your forehead against his as you peer directly into his eyes and continue to ride him. His hands move from your hips to your ass, squeezing firmly and giving you a break from doing all the work when he begins to move you up and down himself. Your lips part and he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“How about that?” he asks softly, bouncing you up and down on his cock and watching your expression, “How’s that feel?”

You moan loudly, kissing him hard to muffle your cries as he mercilessly begins to pound into you, hard and fast. He pulls back so he can hear you, and you shakily whine and moan as he hits your g-spot over and over again.

“Tell me,” he breathes, “Tell me how it feels.”

You bury your face in his neck, your hands coming up to grip the bars of the headboard as his cock pushes relentlessly in and out of you, “Amazing,” you whimper, barely able to get the words out, “It feels so amazing, John.” You feel his hands on your back, gripping you tightly to him as his skin slaps against yours, “Fuck, you’re so deep.”

“Yeah?” his breath is hot against your ear, “Filling you up so good, huh?”

You moan even louder at his words, your knuckles white as you hold onto the headboard and give yourself completely over to him, suddenly uncaring that you’d initially intended to be in control this time. He knows exactly what he’s doing, somehow knows exactly how to turn you on, both with his actions and words. You’ve never had a partner so in tune with you after such a short amount of time, so comfortable and trusting.

“I’m close,” you admit sheepishly through whimpers, “I’m sorry, you’re just too good at this.”

You hear him laugh and he suddenly stills his movements, cock deep inside you as he pulls you up from his neck so he can kiss you tenderly, “Don’t apologize, I’m close too.” He brings his hands up from your back to run his fingers through your hair, pushing it behind your ears so he can see your face, “I love your pussy.” He says it so unabashedly, grinning when you blush, “What? I do.”

“You’re so good at talking dirty.” you say with an embarrassed smile, pulling back from him so you’re sitting again with his cock still buried deep. His hands fall to your hips and he lightly begins to trail his fingers up and down your stomach, making you shiver.

“It doesn’t make you uncomfortable, does it?” he asks, brow furrowing.

“No, it’s hot as fuck,” you reply with a breathless laugh, shaking your head, “You could probably make me come with just the shit you’re saying.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Is that a challenge?”

You bite your lip, grinding down a bit and feeling your eyes roll back when the head of his cock brushes your g-spot. It takes you a few seconds to come back to your senses, licking your lips and whimpering when you see him watching you, “What? Sorry, got distracted.”

He laughs lightly, eyes dark as he continues to drag his fingers back and forth along your pelvic bone and stomach, raising goosebumps all over your skin, “You think I can make you come just by telling you how good your pussy feels around me?” he breathes, and you inhale sharply as he grips your hips again to hold you still, “So tight, letting me fuck you so good.”

“John.” you whimper, your hands flat on his chest as your lip trembles with desire.

“I love the sounds you make,” he murmurs, a smirk on his face as he makes you come completely undone with just his words, “Letting me know how good it feels,” he ever so slowly moves your hips, pulling slightly out of you only to push himself back in again, smiling when you moan. “Even just sitting on my cock drives you crazy, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” you whisper, feeling yourself getting closer and closer by the second, “You’re so big.”

“I know, baby,” he breathes, fucking gently into you again, “Taking me so well.”

Your mouth opens without any sound coming out, eyebrows scrunching as you feel your orgasm rise, “I’m gonna come,” you finally manage to get out, shaking in his grip, “Fuck, I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“That’s it,” he says roughly, and he lazily starts to bounce you on his cock again, making you moan even louder as your orgasm takes over and you tighten around him, “Come all over my cock, show me how good it feels.”

You feel yourself collapse on his chest, shaking uncontrollably as he holds you tightly to him and lets you ride out the aftershocks. A few seconds later his cock twitches inside you and you know he’s coming, a low groan escaping him as he stills his movements and comes into the condom. Yet again, you curse yourself for not being on birth control.

“Wish you could come inside me,” you whisper into his neck, pressing a kiss there and closing your eyes, “I wish I could feel it.”

He moans, cock still twitching as he comes, “God, you’re gonna kill me.”

You laugh breathlessly, pulling back to look at his face as he finishes and gently trails his fingers up and down your back, breathing heavily.

“Kiss me,” he murmurs, and you softly press your lips to his, adoring how connected you feel to him, like you’re the only two people on the planet.

After a few moments you carefully roll off him, immediately hating the emptiness you feel without him inside you. John tosses the condom into the garbage by your bed and you cuddle up beside him and place your head on his chest again, running your fingers back and forth against his skin as he strokes your hair. You trace some of his scars, unable to stop yourself from kissing a few.

“I didn’t hurt your ribs, did I?” you ask after a few minutes of comfortable silence, peering down at the dark bruise, “I keep forgetting you’re injured.”

“Trust me, I haven’t felt any pain since I got into this bed,” he says with a smile, kissing the top of your head, “I think I could lie here with you forever.”

Your heart soars at his words, cheeks warming as you press a soft kiss to his chest and close your eyes, “Me too.”

You lie there for a few more minutes without speaking, just breathing each other in and making the moment last as long as possible. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, as you suddenly hear a scratching sound at your door and John exhales with a quiet laugh.

“That’s the dog, he needs to go out,” he brings his finger down to your chin and tilts your head up, looking into your eyes adoringly before kissing you softly, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” you murmur against his lips, kissing him once more before he pulls away and walks over to his clothes on the floor. He starts searching for his shirt and you bite your lip, eyes trailing up and down his naked form, “God, you’re hot.”

He finds his shirt and looks at you, cheeks going a bit pink as he smiles and pulls it over his head, “I think that’s  _my_  line.”

You roll your eyes, sitting up in bed and stretching your arms above your head, pretending you don’t notice John getting a good look at your breasts. You turn to look in the closet mirror and wince when you see how messy your hair is, reaching up to try and sort it out, “Oh yeah, I’m hot as hell.” You say sarcastically, cringing at all the tangles you feel.

“You  _really_  are,” he says with a laugh, tugging on his underwear and then his jeans, zipping them up and walking over to the end of the bed to grab his socks, “I don’t mean that lightly.”

You laugh, feeling yourself flush and changing the subject, “I think I named your dog, by the way.”

He looks up at you as he tugs his socks on, raising an eyebrow, “Oh, yeah?”

You nod, “What do you think about Bleu?”

“Like the color?”

You shrug, “Yeah, but, uh…with the French spelling, so B L E U, instead of B L U E. I kind of randomly remembered that King Louis of France had a dog named Bleu. You know, that whole ‘fit for a king’ thing we were saying last night or whatever,” suddenly a bit insecure of the idea, you bite your lip, “It’s okay if you don’t like it, I can come up with something else.”

He grins and shakes his head, “No, I love it. And you love it, which is what matters most.”

You feel yourself blush again, “I hardly think how _I_  feel about it matters most.”

He walks over to you and kneels on the bed, reaching down and kissing you gently. When he pulls back, he’s looking at you with a beautiful fondness that makes your heart ache, “Yes it does. I value what you think above what anybody else thinks.”

You stare at him, heart pumping in your chest, “You’ve only known me for a week.”

“Exactly, which is why I’m gonna spend all of today getting to know you and confirming my suspicion that you are the best person I know,” He kisses you again firmly, then backs up and heads to the door, winking at you as he goes, “Be back soon.”

“Get out of here, go walk your dog.” you say jokingly, tossing a pillow at him and grinning when he dodges it and leaves the room with one last parting smile.

You hear the front door shut and you climb out of bed, looking at yourself in the mirror and smiling at the faint red marks all over your hips from John’s fingers. You turn around, biting your lip when you see the redness on your ass from where he was squeezing you as you rode him.  _Fuck, that’s hot._

You pull on your robe, no longer worried about how short it is as you leave the room and head to the kitchen, Fitz following closely behind you. You smile at him and reach under the sink for the cat food, putting some in his bowl and re-filling his water. Once he’s happily lapping up his breakfast, you open the fridge and cringe when you realize there’s still barely anything in there. Everything had been used for John’s extravagant breakfast the day before.

“Do you think John will mind just having some cereal this morning?” you ask Fitz, biting your lip; unsurprisingly, he doesn’t respond.

You pour some cheerios into two bowls and add milk, feeling more than a little inadequate as you think about everything John had set up for you yesterday _. He’s not gonna care,_  you tell yourself,  _it’s only breakfast, chill out._

You sit down and immediately wince, feeling everything from last night and this morning against the hard surface of the chair. If you’re being honest, though…you kind of like it, the knowledge that you feel this way because of John making you shiver. You dip your spoon into the cereal and start to eat, looking up a few minutes later when you hear a knock at the door.

“It’s me.” you hear before you’re even halfway there and you laugh, pulling it open and smiling widely when John’s dog jumps up to greet you.

“Hi, buddy,” you say, petting him gently as his tail wags happily.

“Bleu,” John corrects, “His name is Bleu.”

You pull back and usher John inside, shaking your head, “John, you don’t have to–”

“His name is Bleu,” John says again, gently placing his finger on your lips, “It fits him and he likes it, watch.” He turns to the dog, patting his legs, “Come here, Bleu.” The dog waddles away from you to climb onto John, tail going wild behind him, “Good boy, Bleu, good boy.”

“He’d respond that way anyway,” you say, crossing your arms, “It has nothing to do with the name.”

John laughs, scratching the dog behind his ears before setting him back on the floor and leaning over to press a quick kiss to your cheek, “His name is Bleu, Y/N. End of story.”

God, he really is the most incredible man on the planet. You lean back in to kiss him on the lips and you can feel him smiling against your mouth, his hand coming up to cradle your face. When you both pull away, he brushes his nose against yours and smiles softly at you, “Hi.”

“Hi,” you whisper back, grinning, “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Yes, please.”

You both sit down at the table and John doesn’t say one negative thing about the cereal, immediately digging in with a smile on his face. You’ve pretty much finished already so you mainly just sit and watch John eat again like you had yesterday, head resting in your chin with a content smile on your face.

“I have an idea,” John says, and you raise an eyebrow in interest, “Why don’t you stop staring at me and put some cereal in a bowl for Bleu.”

You snort, stifling your smile as you grab the box and empty some into the bowl, “Apologies, Mr. Wick, I’ll get right to it.”

John stops eating, tilting his head to the side with a  _Really?_  look on his face that makes you giggle. He smiles and resumes his chewing, shaking his head, “What am I gonna do with you?”

You put the bowl on the floor and Bleu immediately digs in, muffled sounds of enjoyment escaping him as he chows down. You turn back to John and furrow your brow, “What do you mean?”

He takes another bite, grinning, “I don’t know how I’m gonna handle having a girlfriend so adorable.”

Your skin warms at the word “girlfriend”, but you still reach over to playfully slap his knee, “I’m not adorable, I’m hot, you said it yourself.”

He laughs, taking your hand before you can pull it away and squeezing it gently, “Nobody said you can’t be both, you know,” His gaze falls to your bare thighs and he smirks, “Besides, in that robe I think you’re leaning more towards the latter.”

You smile mischievously and slowly open your legs, exposing the fact that you’re not wearing anything underneath it, your pussy on display. His eyes widen and he swallows, his grip loosening on your hand as you pull it away and grab Bleu’s now empty bowl of cereal off the floor. You stand up, closing your legs and walking over to the sink with a satisfied smile on your face.

“I meant what I said earlier,” John says breathlessly behind you, “You really are gonna kill me.”

“Damn, and that’s exactly the opposite of what I’ve been trying to do since I met you,” you say teasingly, filling up a glass of water and walking back over to the table, “Which reminds me, you need to take your antibiotics.”

John nods, taking the water and grabbing the container of pills, “Thank you for taking care of me,” he says earnestly, then smirks, “In more ways than one.”

You roll your eyes, gesturing for him to take the pills as you sit back down. He notices when you wince, and he looks concerned as he downs the pills and takes a sip of water, “How bad does it hurt?” he asks after swallowing, “Scale from 1 to 10?”

“Like a 5,” you say with a wave of your hand, “But even if it was a 10, I wouldn’t care, I’m still gonna do it again.” He coughs a bit on his second sip of water, putting the glass down and banging his chest a few times. You smile, raising an eyebrow, “What? It’s true, there’s no way I’m not gonna have sex with you again,” you bite your lip, “And again. And again.”

“Okay, you  _need_  to stop,” he says with a shaky laugh, licking his lips, “As much as I’d love to spend the day in bed with you, I really do want to just…get to know you. I was thinking maybe we could go somewhere, take Bleu for a walk or something, and just, sort of, well…talk?”

You smile softly, reaching over to lightly brush your fingers against his bruised knuckles, “That sounds perfect.”

John smiles back, picking up his bowl and getting up to rinse it. You reach down and pet Bleu, secretly pleased that John liked the name enough to keep it, and his fur feels a bit cool from being outside, “What’s the weather like?”

“Clear, but cool,” John responds, spoon clanging against the sink, “I don’t think it’s supposed to rain.”

“Do you need a shower?”

You hear the sink turn off and he appears at your side, taking your hand and pulling you up so you’re both standing. He places both hands on your face and presses a firm kiss to your lips, then pulls back with a wide smile on his face, “I’d like one, but it’ll have to be solo. We can’t get distracted.”

You pout, “What if I promise to keep my hands to myself?”

“Can you make that promise?”

You grimace and he laughs, kissing you again, “Believe me, Y/N, I want to have sex with you again. Over and over and over,” you feel your cheeks warm under his touch, “But we have all the time in the world for that. I just want today to be about  _us_ , you know? I told you some things about me, now it’s your turn.”

You nod, “But you’ll tell me more stuff about you too, right? ‘Cause I still have a lot of questions.”

“Of course,” he kisses you once more before releasing your face and backing up, “Anything you wanna know.” He turns to exit the kitchen, “I won’t be long.”

John heads to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him, leaving you standing in the kitchen with his dog, “Come on, Bleu, let’s go fix this hair situation.”

Moments later you’re sitting in front of your closet mirror running a brush through your hair, Bleu at your side while Fitz rests on your unmade bed, sheets still strewn about from this morning’s activities. You can hear the sound of the shower through the wall, and you smile softly at the domesticity of this whole morning. Everything is so  _normal_ , things finally as they should be.

Just as you’re finishing your hair, you hear a dull thudding noise, and you immediately halt your movements and look towards the entrance to your bedroom. You hear it again, and you realize someone is knocking on the front door. A bit hesitantly, you get up and leave your room, slowly walking toward the sound and wondering whether or not you should answer it. All you can suddenly think about is the Russian mafia, your heart pounding in your chest.

_Don’t be ridiculous, it’s probably Bernice asking to borrow the newspaper_ , you tell yourself, shaking your head and pushing all the dramatic thoughts out of your brain,  _John said you were safe, you trust John._

Still, your hand shakes a bit as you reach toward the knob, unlocking the door and hesitantly pulling it open.

“Bitch, I have been texting you since yesterday,” is the first thing you hear, and then you’re suddenly face to face with your friend Ruby from work, the one who’d seen you in the elevator after you’d stolen the supplies, “What’s going on with you? Did something happen? I was worried about you all night.”

She pushes past you without waiting for an answer and you close the door behind her, cringing at the realization that she’s about to have a lot of questions, especially after she sees Bleu. You turn around and open your mouth to start explaining, but she’s already frozen in the middle of the kitchen, pretty much having a staring contest with the curious pit bull.

“Whose dog is this?”

You bite your lip, walking forward and taking a deep breath, “Uh, it’s kind of a long story. Why were you worried about me? It’s not like we text each other every day.”

She very slowly moves her gaze away from Bleu to look at you, expression confused, “I know that, but yesterday morning when I saw you in the elevator, you seemed weird, saying shit about a meeting you had to go to and all that. I asked around about it and no one had any idea what the hell you were talking about,” she crosses her arms, “I texted you after my shift and you didn’t reply, which was weird because you  _always_ reply.”

You shrug, licking your lips nervously, “I don’t know what to say, I’m sorry. I’m totally fine, I just had a busy night.”

“Busy,” she repeats, eyeing Bleu again, “Dog-sitting?”

“I–” you’re about to reply when you suddenly hear the bathroom door open. Both you and Ruby turn toward the noise, and your eyes widen when you realize that John has finished his shower.

“Hey, Y/N, where are the towels?” you hear John say, and Ruby’s expression changes from concern to complete and utter  _shock_ , her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

“John, don’t come in the kitchen!” you shout immediately, rushing toward the hallway and spotting him standing outside the bathroom  _completely naked_ , “Oh my god, go back in please.”

“What’s wrong?” he looks concerned, taking a step toward you.

“My friend is here, stay in the bathroom, please,” you reply, knowing that Ruby can hear every word, “Just stay there until I tell you to come out, I’m begging.”

His eyes widen and he nods, quickly backing up and going into the bathroom again. He shuts the door behind him and you go back to the kitchen, face hot. Ruby is staring at you with her hand still over her mouth, then she slowly reaches up to take her glasses off, making a show of rubbing them with the material of her jacket before putting them back on and looking at you with that same shocked expression.

“You  _slept_  with somebody? Finally?” her voice is giddy, a grin appearing on her face as she says the words, “Miss  _I don’t have time to date anybody_? Miss  _I’m not even interested in getting laid_? That girl had  _sex_  last night?!”

You cover your face, feeling embarrassed and proud of yourself all at the same time. You’ve talked about your single life struggles to Ruby quite a few times, and she’d always encouraged you to put yourself out there. You know she’s going to want every single detail, but there’s no way you’re giving them to her right now.

“Listen, I want to tell you all about it, I do,” you take your hands off your face, exhaling loudly, “But now really isn’t the best time. I know you came all the way over here to talk to me, but–”

“Oh, no, I just happened to be in the neighborhood,” she interrupts you, shaking her head, “I didn’t drive all the way over here for shits and giggles, I had an eye appointment.”

You snort, shaking your head, “Why does that not surprise me at all?”

She walks toward you and places both hands on your shoulders, “But I do love you, Y/N. And I really was worried. Seriously, check your phone, I was blowin’ that shit  _up_.”

“I will,” you say with a laugh, “And I’ll tell you everything next time we have a shift together, okay?”

“Oh, you better. I wanna know absolutely everything there is to know about this John guy,” her eyes scan past you to look down the hallway, squinting, “Starting with a picture because that voice sounded hot as hell.”

You almost laugh, holding back the urge to say that you’ve barely scratched the surface of “everything there is to know”. Instead, you just nod again, “A picture, got it.”

She releases her grip on you and walks toward the door, looking at Bleu again and giving him a little wave, “Bye, puppy.”

As soon as she’s out of the apartment, you press your back to the door and slide down onto the floor, taking a deep breath and processing this new situation you’ve gotten yourself into. What the hell are you going to tell Ruby about John? There’s absolutely no way you’re gonna tell the truth, and you’ve already proven yourself to be a terrible liar at this point. She’ll see right through you.

Sitting there with your thoughts running wild, a quote from The Great Gatsby suddenly enters your mind, and you laugh to yourself as you mull the words over in your head:

_I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life._

“You know what, Bleu? I think I finally know what Nick Carraway was talking about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please feel free to like/reblog this chapter on tumblr: [chapter 13](https://keanubot.tumblr.com/post/179781849255/catastrophe-reigns-john-wickreader-chapter-13)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all, you have no idea how thankful i am for all of you and how much i appreciate how patient you’ve all been. these past few months haven’t been great for me and it was difficult to find the time or inspiration to write. but i’m slowly but surely getting my groove back and i finally have a new chapter for you guys. i’m sorry for how long it took, and i’m sorry it’s not the most exciting chapter, but it’s something!
> 
>  **word count:** 4.3k
> 
>  **warnings:** a teensy bit of smuttiness here and there (the next chapter will be much more smutty, trust me)

You can’t get out of your apartment fast enough, slightly worried that somebody else is going to show up and see John. It’s not that you’re embarrassed of him or anything even close to that; if anything, you’d love to show off that you’ve finally managed to get laid, and with a man this gorgeous. But the fact that you can’t really explain any part of your relationship is just too much of a roadblock at this point. You’re already wondering what the hell you’re going to say to Ruby next time you see her, you don’t need more complications in your life.

John had found the whole thing hilarious, apologizing profusely through laughter as you’d handed him a towel through the bathroom door and given him a disapproving look.

“She could have seen you naked,” you’d groaned, shaking your head, “It’s not funny.”

“I’m sorry, I really am,” he’d said through laughs, patting his chest with the towel, “I don’t know why but this whole situation is just so funny to me, I feel like a teenager.”

You’d smiled at that, biting your lip and eyeing him up and down, “Speaking of which…I saw your drivers license.”

He’d raised an eyebrow, “And?”

You’d smirked, “47, huh?”

After staring at you for a few seconds, drying himself off and looking a bit sheepish, he’d slowed his movements and looked at you a bit worriedly, “Is that okay?”

A wide grin had appeared on your face as you’d nodded, reassuring him immediately, “Age is just a number, John. It doesn’t bother me at all.”

You’d left the bathroom to finish getting ready, then quickly whisked John out of the apartment with Bleu on his leash, excited to get as far away as possible from all the drama your building has become associated with. Now you find yourself walking hand in hand with John down a quiet side street, admiring the autumn leaves that are starting to fall from the trees and begin the transition to winter. His hand is strong and firm in yours, calloused but soft, and you never want to let go.

“So, you’ve told me all about your job,” John says, squeezing your hand gently, “And your friends from work, but what about you?”

You grimace, looking down at Bleu who’s walking a few feet in front of the two of you, tail wagging as he waddles excitedly down the street. You’ve never been the kind of person to enjoy sharing personal details about yourself, always feeling like you’re too boring for anyone to really find you interesting. But John seems interested, which makes your heart flutter.

“There’s not really much to know,” you shrug, avoiding looking at him, “My job takes up most of my time and I just told you all about that, so…there’s not much else to say.”

“Bullshit,” John replies, and you finally look at him, surprised to see him smiling at you, “I’m sure there’s a lot to say. Where did you grow up?”

So you tell him; you end up telling him a lot, actually, which really surprises you. From parts of your childhood and your relationship with your parents to your time at medical school and your awkward introversion, John listens attentively. The words flow out naturally and you never once feel as if he’s getting bored or waiting for you to stop talking. He hangs onto your every word, squeezing your hand every so often and smiling beautifully every time you tell him something he finds cute or funny. When you tell him about rescuing Fitz from a cat fight and nursing him back to health, he stops in his tracks, making you stop as well.

“What?”

He just shakes his head, seemingly in awe, “You’re just…unreal.”

You feel your face turn red and you let go of his hand, continuing to walk and focusing your attention on Bleu, “I’m really not. You’re the one who’s out there kicking ass and taking names.” You’re half-joking, but John speed walks to catch up with you, gently taking your hand again and smiling softly at you.

“There’s more honor in what you do than in what I do, Y/N,” he says quietly, eyes sincere – you can sense a sadness within them that makes your heart hurt, “You save lives every day, even when you’re not at work.”

“I don’t-“

“You saved mine,” he interrupts you, and he brings your hand up to press against his heart through his jacket; you’re both still walking but neither of you are looking where you’re going, “I’m never gonna let you forget that, you know.”

You smile and pull your hand back, shaking your head, “Okay, that’s enough about me. Your turn.”

John exhales deeply, giving you a knowing smile as you continue walking down the street, “Okay, I’ll give you a little break from talking about yourself, but I just want you to know that I’m nowhere near finished with you.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Is that so?”

He laughs, “Mind out of the gutter, what do you wanna know?”

You think for a moment, biting your lip and twisting Bleu’s leash a little in your hand, “Why didn’t I get in trouble at the hospital? I mean, that was you, right?” You look over at him and see him slowly nodding, “You did something.”

“I did.”

Your gaze falls to the sidewalk as you wait for John to give his answer, staring at your boots as they crunch along the leaf-covered pavement. Bleu stops suddenly next to a fire hydrant and both you and John slow down to let him do his business, a quiet laugh escaping your lips as you watch him lift his hind leg; you’re so used to seeing Fitz squat above his litter box that Bleu’s actions seem almost cartoonish.

“Dogs are funny.” you say to no one in particular, and John snorts.

“You’re so cute.”

“And you are avoiding the question, mister,” you tease, winking at him before starting to move again as Bleu turns away from the fire hydrant, “Listen, you already told me that you’ve –” you quiet your voice to a whisper, looking back and forth along the street to make sure there’s no one around, “– killed people,” John visibly swallows at the word but you continue, “You can tell me anything, John.”

He nods again, “I know, I’m sorry. I just –”

“Don’t be sorry.” You squeeze his hand and he smiles softly at you before taking a deep breath.

“Well, as you know, I didn’t – uh – do that, thankfully,” his eyes dart around the street as well, double checking for any passersby, “I just…well, I got the Director of Hospital Security to destroy the footage of you stealing the medication.”

You raise an eyebrow, “And he did it? Just like that?”

John grimaces, “Well, no, of course not,” he looks at you a bit sheepishly, “I threatened him.”

“With what?”

“…A gun.”

The image of the empty drawer beside your bed suddenly fills your mind and you nod to yourself, processing what John is saying. Though John needs to get used to telling you these things, in all honesty, you need to get used to hearing them. It doesn’t frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable, but just picturing John pointing a gun at someone and forcing their hand is somehow still slightly difficult to fully grasp. It just seems so strange that the quiet, gentle man walking beside you is capable of those kinds of actions, and there’s an incredibly curious part of you that wants to see him do it – which is probably the weirdest desire you’ve ever had in your life.

“Aren’t you afraid that he’ll tell somebody?”

John shakes his head, “He won’t. I made sure of that.”

“…How?”

John grimaces again, “Listen, Y/N, I know you want to know everything, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but… what I do, it’s not pretty. Even on the easiest of missions, there’s a lot of factors that go into making sure someone won’t…talk. It’s not as simple as just pointing the gun.”

“I understand that,” the three of you turn down another side street, keeping as far away from other pedestrians as possible in order to keep your conversation private, “Just, um… tell me, did you hurt him?”

You look over at John and he’s got one hand in his pocket, eyes glued to Bleu as he formulates an answer to your question. After a few seconds, he looks over at you, “No, but I threatened to.”

“…And would you have? If he didn’t cooperate?”

He sighs, pulling his hand out of his pocket to push his hair back from his face, “Yes. If it meant clearing your name, then yes.”

You come to a stop on the sidewalk, Bleu’s leash loosening in your grip. John stops as well, his expression turning to concern as he peers at you, “Does that scare you?” he reaches over and takes your other hand, squeezing tightly, “I’m sorry.”

The amount of fondness, warmth, and love you feel in the pit of your stomach is indescribable, a deep breath escaping your lips as you close your eyes and allow it to wash over you.

John leans down and presses his forehead to yours, brow furrowed, “I’m sorry,” he repeats, closing his eyes, breathing you in as his nose brushes against yours, “You want me to tell you these things but I know they’re not easy to h–”

“Stop apologizing,” you say back softly, reaching up and taking his face in your hands as Bleu’s leash falls to the ground. He opens his eyes again and you peer into them, trailing your nose back and forth against his, “This is what you do, I know what I’m signing up for, John.”

“Do you, though?” he swallows, “Because I –”

You silence him with a kiss, his lips soft against yours. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in close, kissing you back tenderly as his hands trail up and down your spine. Bleu, just as well behaved as John had said, waits patiently at your feet despite his leash laying beside him on the ground. When you pull back from each other, John reaches down and picks it up, his other hand gripping yours as you resume walking once more.

“But you threatening him…” you say with a puzzled expression, the cogs turning in your head, “Wouldn’t that have been caught on camera too?”

“Oh, definitely,” John shrugs, “which is why I had one of my contacts temporarily shut down the security system.”

You suddenly remember the blue computer screen and error message, and you can’t help but feel more than a little impressed with John’s thoroughness, “You really know what you’re doing, huh.”

Chuckling, John swings your hands back and forth between the two of you and grins, “I should hope so.”

—–

You spend the next hour or so walking, John’s hand a permanent fixture in yours as you keep to quiet side streets and discuss your lives. John tells you a little bit about his wife, how she’d passed away a little over a year ago and how she’d insisted he move on as quickly as possible.

“She hated the idea of me being unhappy,” John says to you, soft and quiet, “If she’d had things her way she’d have been happy with me meeting someone at her funeral and getting engaged within the month.” he chuckles to himself and looks at you with those beautiful, kind eyes you’ve grown incredibly fond of, “But that, uh… well that obviously didn’t happen.”

You smile at him, squeezing his hand gently, “She sounds lovely.”

He nods, “She was.”

“You must miss her a lot.”

He takes a few seconds to answer, mulling the words around in his head before saying, “Yes, and no. Once I was able to finally grieve, I found I was able to move on a lot quicker than I thought I would. We’d been preparing for it for a while, so it wasn’t a shock when she passed,” he looks thoughtful, his eyes breaking away from yours to peer down at Bleu, “And he helped a lot.”

“You said finally grieve, like something got in the way. Did I hear that right, or…?”

“Yeah,” he says it quickly, and you feel his hand loosen a little in your grip, “But that’s a story for another day.”

Tightening your grip on his hand, you catch his eyes and hold your gaze, giving him an empathetic smile, “Of course,” you say gently, running your thumb comfortingly along his knuckle, “Whenever you feel comfortable.”

The look John gives you sends tingles up and down your spine, his expression soft and almost awestruck, as he often seems to be whenever he looks at you. You feel yourself blush and to distract yourself you look down at your hands, biting your lip when you see the dark bruise and scabs resting along his knuckles.

“I’m not hurting you am I?”

“Not at all,” he reassures you, “It looks worse than it feels. Everything does, trust me.”

Your eyes look up to meet his again, skin still burning under his gaze, “I trust you.”

—–

“So what am I gonna tell Ruby?” you ask as you head back into your apartment, John following behind you with Bleu and closing the door, “It’s not like we hang out that much outside of work but I have a shift tomorrow night and she’s definitely going to ask about you.”

Fitz meows at you in greeting and rubs his body gently against the both of you, giving Bleu a tentative sniff before heading over to his food bowl and taking a few nibbles.

“Well…” John hooks Bleu’s leash on the coat rack – a simple domestic gesture that makes you smile – and walks over to put his arms around you, “You just tell her that I’m your boyfriend.”

Your skin warms at the word and you lean in to brush your nose against his, “Yeah, but what else? How did we meet?”

“Hmm…” he kisses you softly and pulls back with a smile, “The gym?” You snort and John laughs, his hands firm on your hips as he pulls you in closer, “I’ll take that as a no.”

“She knows more than anyone that the only working out I do is running through hospital hallways.”

You feel John’s hand move to your ass, squeezing firmly, “It’s done wonders.”

Laughing, you slap his hand away and pull back from him, walking over to the sink to pour some water in a bowl for Bleu, “I’m serious, John, what do I tell her? It has to be convincing, we’ve already established that I’m a terrible liar.”

John comes up behind you and puts his arms around you again, wrapping them around your stomach and pulling you into him, “We’ll come up with something, we have lots of time between now and tomorrow night.”

You go to put the bowl on the floor but John’s grip around you makes it difficult to move. You wriggle in his arms, laughing breathlessly, “What’s gotten into you? What happened to Mister ‘I just want to talk to each other today’?”

John kisses your neck and chuckles against your skin, “Oh, he’s gone.”

He loosens his grip so you can bend over and put the bowl on the floor, which suddenly leaves you both in quite a compromising position. You can feel the shape of John’s dick pressed against your ass, and his hands slowly go to your hips, his fingers pressing lightly into the bare sliver of exposed skin between your shirt and pants. You find yourself holding still for a moment, letting him slowly grind into you for a few seconds without even noticing Bleu running over and starting to drink the water.

“You’re getting hard.” you say matter-of-factly, trying not to show how turned on you suddenly are.

You feel one of John’s hands travel from your hip to your back, smoothing it across and pushing your shirt up in the process to expose your skin to him, “Can’t really help it.” he replies quietly, his hand running back and forth along your spine.

You slowly stand up and lean back into his touch, your head lolling against his shoulder as he presses kisses along the length of your neck, “What changed your mind?” you ask through a quiet moan, “Thought you wanted to keep sex on the backburner today.”

One of John’s hands is suddenly inside your shirt, traveling up to take one of your breasts in his palm. Your eyes roll back and you surrender to his touch, letting out another moan as he grinds himself into you.

“I feel so close to you,” he whispers, holding you to his chest, “I mean, I’ve felt close to you since the first night. But now…with you knowing everything…” he rubs himself against you, kisses the skin behind your ear and licks a gentle stripe along the edge of it, “I feel like I can be myself.”

You want more than anything to continue what he’s starting, but there’s a part of your brain telling you that John’s earlier idea had been a good one; you don’t want this relationship to purely be about sex. You want the connection to go deeper than that, you want to keep talking to him and opening up to each other and finding out everything you can about him. He’s not just some random guy you fixed up anymore, although he never really was that guy to begin with. He’s John, your boyfriend. Even just thinking the word gives you butterflies.

He’s here to stay, you have plenty of time to let him fuck your brains out.

Reluctantly, you step forward, pulling yourself away from him and turning in his arms. He looks at you with a puzzled expression, raising an eyebrow.

“Listen, you said no sex so let’s keep it that way,” John opens his mouth to protest but you silence him with a finger to his lips, shaking your head with a smile, “It’s a good idea, John. Spending a day learning about each other and catching up on things any normal relationship would have established ages ago.”

John’s mouth pops open in faux shock, “Are you saying this isn’t a normal relationship?!”

You laugh, pulling your hand away and wrapping your arms around his neck, “Hate to break it to you, but I think this may be one of the most unconventional relationships I’ve ever been in.”

John raises an eyebrow, “So…you’ve been in other unconventional relationships?”

You snort, “Oh, are we having that conversation now?”

“What conversation?”

You pull away from him and walk to the living room, John and Fitz following closely behind you while Bleu continues lapping at his water, “The past relationships conversation.”

“Well…” John shrugs, “I did tell you about Helen.”

You grimace, knowing he’s right, “True, but you didn’t tell me about your old flames like you’re trying to get me to do.” You sit down on the couch and John settles in beside you, picking your legs up as if on instinct and placing them in his lap.

“I’d tell you about mine if I actually had any,” he says, laughing when you make a disbelieving sound, “No, seriously, it’s true. I never had any sort of real relationship before Helen. To be quite frank, I didn’t think I deserved it.”

You frown, “That makes me sad.”

He massages your ankles in his hands, giving you a genuine smile, “Don’t be. I don’t feel that way anymore, I promise.”

You nod, looking down at your legs and loving the feeling of his calloused hands trailing up and down your bare skin. You think about what John has just said and suddenly come to a startling realization.

“Wait…so, does that mean…” you trail off, looking at him with a curious expression.

“What?”

“Were you a…” you bite your lip, trying not to smile at the thought of what you’re about to say, “Were you a virgin, before Helen?”

The look on John’s face answers your question, and you immediately wave your hands in front of yourself and try to salvage the conversation, “Oh my God, I’m sorry, that was such a stupid question. I mean look at you, Jesus Christ, of course you weren’t a virgin.”

John just laughs at your spluttering, reaching a hand up to push his hair back in disbelief, “You really thought that I was a virgin until I was 40.”

“Only for a second!!” you try to defend yourself, laughing along with him, “Listen, I didn’t lose my virginity until I was 21.”

John looks over at you in surprise, “Really? 21?”

You nod, cheeks turning a bit pink, “I, uh…I was kind of a loser in high school,” you cringe at the words, your mind suddenly playing brief memories of that time in your head, “Didn’t really get out much. Still don’t.”

John smiles softly at you, “Me neither.”

You smile back, “I’m glad I waited though, the first time is actually enjoyable if you wait until you’re an adult.”

He chuckles, “My fifteen year old self should have taken your advice.”

“Bad?”

“Terrible. I came in about twenty seconds,” he shakes his head at the memory, “Although I definitely recall thinking it was amazing at the time. Then I started having good sex and I realized my mistake.”

You raise an eyebrow, “And who was this good sex with?”

He laughs, “Not so fast, Y/N. Tell me about your first time.”

Sighing, you give in, “Um…his name was Ian. It was very romantic, he put rose petals on the bed and stuff.”

“Rose petals? I need to up my game.”

You laugh, giving John a playful swat on the arm, “Shut up, it was sweet,” you bite your lip, secretly hoping that giving details might make John a little jealous, “He was very gentle, he told me he loved me afterwards.”

“And did you say it back?”

You snort, “Yeah, but it didn’t stop him from falling out of love with me about a month later.”

John’s brow furrows, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, don’t be. We really weren’t a match,” you shrug, “He was in plastic surgery, it never would have worked.”

John laughs and watches as Fitz pounces up onto the couch, walking along your legs and settling in John’s lap. You pull your feet back to give him room, smiling wide when he curls up atop John’s thighs. John reaches down and gently pets him, scratching behind his ears and letting out a breathy laugh when Fitz begins to purr.

“He’s vibrating,” John says, and you giggle.

“Yeah, that means he likes you.”

John looks up at you, smiling tenderly and bringing his other hand up to gesture you toward him. You crawl along the couch and settle beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder and closing your eyes when he kisses your hair.

“I like you,” he murmurs against your scalp, kissing you again and again until your head feels warm and tingly, “So much.”

“I like you too,” you breathe, opening your eyes and watching John’s beat up hand gently caress Fitz’s grey fur. “I think I like you more than anyone else on this Earth.”

John touches your chin with his fingers and angles your face up to meet his, lips parting. You close your eyes again and feel his lips touch yours, soft and slow. Kissing him is the greatest feeling in the world – somehow greater than saving lives – and you feel like putty in his hands as he continues to hold your chin and kiss you deeper and deeper. The ache between your legs is back, and before you can even really register it, he’s pulling away from you with a string of saliva connecting your lips for a few seconds before breaking.

“Fuck.” you whisper, lids heavy.

“What?”

“You’re unreal,” you breathe, repeating back what he’d said to you on the walk, and he just smiles at you and starts to shake his head. Before he can say anything else, you lean back up to capture his lips again, this time cupping his face in your hand and reveling at the way his scruff feels against your skin. You feel John hum against your lips, and poor Fitz is suddenly jumping off of him with an annoyed meow as you feel yourself being lifted and placed onto John’s lap.

“No sex,” you murmur against his lips, your hands moving from his face to his hair, “We agreed.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t kiss you,” he breathes, darting his tongue out to taste you, “Kissing isn’t sex.”

“That’s true.”

You keep kissing for a few moments, John’s hands cupping your ass through your leggings. You can feel his cock pressed against your heat, long and firm, and the temptation to pull it out of the confines of his jeans is suddenly very strong. You pull away from him slightly to peer into his eyes, biting down on your lip.

“I think we did pretty good for today,” you say softly, voice slurred slightly from your arousal, “What do you think? We talked enough right?”

John nods immediately, his thumbs slipping inside the edges of your leggings, “We did, definitely.”

“We’ve both been through a lot, there’s nothing wrong with having more sex.”

“Right.”

“I mean, you’ve shared so much, so have I, it makes sense for us to want to-“

John places his finger on your lips, smirking, “Do you want me to fuck you again, Y/N?”

The words give you not only a physical reaction, but an audible one too. You shiver in his lap and hear a low moan escape your lips, eyebrows furrowing as you look into his eyes and shift your position.

“Yes, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please feel free to like/reblog this chapter on tumblr: [chapter 14](https://keanubot.tumblr.com/post/181934373370/catastrophe-reigns-john-wickreader-chapter-14)


End file.
